


Makan Almawt

by Megpryor



Category: The West Wing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megpryor/pseuds/Megpryor
Summary: Jed is told of a situation in Qumar that destroys the Geneva Convention. He has to make it right.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	1. It's Called What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news isn't good and President Bartlet has words with Admiral Fitzwallace.

**It's Called What?**

Gut reactions pulled rank on sensibility when it came to the country of Qumar. As an ally, it was more than reviled but due to its strategic geography, staying friends with the Arabic country was important. Still, it was a thorn in this President’s side. He disliked almost everything Qumar stood for. Then again, it was in a beautiful spot for refueling American military aircraft.  


President Josiah E. Bartlet understood that he had to swallow his own feelings about the place for the good of the military. No one questioned that the military had to be there to protect the interests of the United States but he didn’t like it. He was studiously listening to his staff discuss the growing internal warring in Qumar.  


Seated behind the regal Resolute Desk, a quick look around the Oval Office found him surrounded by advisors. He needed them now, especially since military decisions were difficult for him. Too many of the military men who called him Commander in Chief didn’t enjoy his not having served in the military. He opted not to make excuses though he had a real one; a birth injury caused his arms to be different lengths by three inches, an automatic 4-F classification.  


Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry, had the honor of being the only former military personnel there. He was the President’s friend long before the idea of running for President caught anyone’s attention. Leo’s experience as an Air Force pilot in Viet Nam helped him understand military issues far better than he could on his own. Grateful that he had a best friend and a military expert as his Chief of Staff gave his military orders more gravitas.  


The Deputy Chief of Staff was another story completely. Josh Lyman was impulsive, brilliant, impatient and singularly focused on whatever the dilemma of the day was. Since things were relatively calm at the moment, he was demonstrating another skill – the ability to make people laugh. “I think we should wrap Nancy McNally in a burka and send her over there. Think the National Security Advisor would do that?”  


“Not even approaching amusing, Josh.” CJ Cregg had the thankless job of being the Press Secretary. Her impossible job was explaining to reporters the actual news of the White House. Sometimes she needed subterfuge and sometimes total honesty. It was a tightrope she walked carefully and with tremendous grace.  


When it came to getting to the point, he could rely on Toby Ziegler. He heard the taciturn Communications Director say, “Sir, we’re seeing an increase in the fighting between the government and the rebels in Qumar. I have a feeling it’s all going to blow up on us and we have to be prepared.”  


Sam Seaborn questioned, "Prepared for what? I got to write the speech."

“I’m meeting with Admiral Fitzwallace this afternoon. That’s what we’re going to be talking about.” Looking at his CoS, he added, “I need those figures on force depletion before that happens.”  


Knowing how much losing a single American life gave this President pause, Leo hesitated before saying, “You’re not going to be happy.”  


“If I wanted to be happy, I’d have lost the election.”  


Only Leo knew he really meant it. His deep sigh complete with sagging shoulders and a slightly bowed head told the group the meeting was over.  


The sixth person in the room was not senior staff level. In fact, his position was pretty low on the White House totem pole. However, his importance was as high as it could be. Charlie Young, a 25 year old college student had the position of Body Man, the President’s personal aide in all things political and/or apolitical. He maintained schedules and basically did whatever at the beckon call of his boss.  


As the senior staff walked out, Charlie asked, “Sir, you need that coffee heated up some?”  


Reaching down, he picked up a cane, a permanent reminder that his multiple sclerosis now compromised his body more than he wanted to admit. “Thanks, Charlie but I think I’ll go to the Residence for lunch today. Abbey is working in the study right now.”  


Charlie moved closer to his boss just in case the President might choose to misstep and end up on the floor. Not today and Charlie accompanied the President upstairs to the Residence and left him at the door to the study.  


Opening the door made Abbey turn her head. Jed showing up at unexpected times made her nervous. “What’s wrong?”  


He moved toward the table that held three piles of papers that she’d been sorting. “Why do you assume that my coming to have lunch with you means something is wrong?”  


She stood up and planted a relatively long-lasting, good tasting kiss on his lips. Ulterior motives gave her a chance to check for a fever or unsteadiness. Looked like all was well. “Is it lunch time already?”  


“Are we conversing only in questions?” Buying into the notion he kept going. “Would you like to make me some lunch?”  


She could play along, “Why can’t you make your own lunch?”  


“Don’t you know I can’t use a can opener?”  


She growled, more like purred, “I’m done with 20 questions. Into the kitchen, please. I can whip up some of the grandkids’ mac and cheese.”  


“Just as long as you use real milk. None of that skimmed junk.”  


“You really are six years old.”  


“And proud of it!”  


The kitchen was just down the huge expansive hallway. Holding his free hand, they made their way into one of the simpler and more normal sized rooms in the Residence. It had the actual feel of a home. Everywhere else, priceless antiques decked the halls and million dollar paintings hung on the wall. In the kitchen, it was just a bunch of pots, pans, ordinary plates and stainless steel cutlery. It was like home. The warmth it exuded made the kitchen the place where Jed and Abbey really felt most comfortable talking to each other.  


Jed sat at the table as Abbey opened the fridge and stuck her head inside, “Here it is, whole milk just for your mac and cheese.”  


“You’re actually going to make it? I was kidding.”  


“Still kidding? I can make you a sandwich instead.”  


His attention was stolen by a fleeting thought of Qumar. He finally realized he was spoken to. “What? Did you say something?”  


This was a kind of mood she understood. He was worried and two versions of Jed were existing in two different worlds simultaneously. The carton of milk came with her to the table. She set it down and took his head in her hand and tilted it toward her. “You’re worried about something, aren’t you?”  


He wanted to click into genial Jed mode and it wasn’t going to be easy. “What do I have to worry about? I’m leader of the free world. What could possibly be on my mind?” A gentle kiss was planted on her hand.  


The attitude was one she’d suffered before. “Jethro, don’t be smart ass with me. I’m not up for it at the moment.” His head turned away again. “What’s going on? You can always talk to me.”  


“I know.” His dilemma was a simple question without any simple answers. “Things are starting to get problematic in Qumar. I hate what’s going on there but the military tells me we need to placate the government in order to maintain our base there. I don’t like it at all.”  


“You support the rebels?”  


“The Almutamaridin.”  


The word was unfamiliar and she shook her head. “Did you just make up a word that I have no understanding of its meaning?”  


“I’m probably pronouncing it incorrectly but it’s Arabic. The Almutamaridin is what they’re calling the rebel faction. They’re fighting for things that America stands for. Freedom of speech, women’s suffrage, fair courts. They’re being arrested for no discernable reason other than they’re not in the military and they support the reforms the Almutamaridin are proposing.”  


“What are you going to do about it?”  


Sitting back in his chair, he put his hands behind his head. “And there is the question of the day. What am I going to do about it? If I support the established government, then I’m making expedience the standard for foreign policy. Supporting the Almutamaridin jeopardizes our base in Qumar. One decision is right and one is wrong. The problem is that I don’t know which decision belongs in which column.”  


“Neither do I.” She grabbed the mac and cheese from the cupboard. “You asked for this and you’re going to get it.”  


“Really? No macrobiotic gunk?”  


“Not today. You have too much on your mind. You need an easy lunch that makes no demands of you.” Shaking the box at his face, she added, “This is as basic as you can get. You need to think basic.”  


*****  


Charlie walked beside his charge. “Sir, your meeting with Admiral Fitzwallace has been changed to the Sit Room.”  


They took the elevator to the first floor. Stairs were getting potentially lethal if his legs decided to not help. The automatic doors shut and the President looked at Charlie. “The Sit Room? Is something going on that I don’t know about yet?”  


“I wouldn’t know, sir.” They exited and walked to the next set of steps, the ones leading to the Sit Room. “He wanted me to be sure you met him down there.”  


“With Dr. McNally and Leo?”  


They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked toward the secret room. “I don’t know, sir. He just told me you had to meet him there.”  


“If that’s what Fitz wants.”  


Security soldiers came to attention and saluted as Jed walked by. It was their protocol told them to do but he didn’t care much for the formality of real soldiers saluting him even if he was Commander in Chief.  


Charlie told him, “I’ll be here when your meeting is over. You have to get to the swimming pool for therapy at four thirty.”  


He’d forgotten. “Pool therapy today? Damn it. We’ll see if it happens at all let alone four thirty.”  


Inside the darkened room he found Admiral Fitzwallace sitting at the immediate right of the Presidential head of the table. Standing up, the Admiral dwarfed the President. Standing a head taller and about 50 pounds heavier, he made the President actually feel small and insignificant. This was a Navy man who’d seen combat and earned his way to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  


“You don’t have to stand, Fitz.” The Admiral sat. “Who else are we expecting?”  


“No one, sir. We need to talk privately and without being recorded. I asked for all recording devices in this room be deactivated until we leave.”  


To say Admiral Fitzwallace was impressive and imposing was to belittle him. He knew his job and knew the military. Something big was going on if their meeting was this clandestine.  


Fitz added, “No one other than you, Charlie, me and the guard outside the door know we’re meeting. Leo can’t know, yet. I’m assuming he will have to eventually but we must be very careful about this situation.”  


Jed felt every muscle tighten up in fear. “You’re starting to scare me. What’s going on and do I really want to know?”  


“I doubt you want to know this but you have to. We’re going to have big trouble very soon.”  


Those words from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were foreboding. “Who’s giving us trouble?”  


Without a second of pause, Fitzwallace stated firmly, “Qumar, in a town called Kufa.”  


“I’ve never heard of it.”  


“Trust me, you will. The world will hear and we’re going to have to answer for it.” He opened up a manila envelope. “Before I show you these, I want to tell you about a place called Makan Almawt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makan Almwat = Prison of Death


	2. Stark Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Fitzwallace brings a terrifying situation to the President's attention.

**Stark Realizations**

President Bartlet had been in some very serious meetings with Admiral Fitzwallace. The Chairman had intelligence, compassion and military knowledge at a level hard to find in any person alive in the world. When they first met, the President didn’t think much of Fitzwallace. At least that’s what he told people. If he’d been honest, he would have admitted that he was in awe of the man. No one looked more like he should be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. His tactical brilliance was unequaled. For a Commander in Chief who never served in uniform, Fitz scared the hell out of him.  


Then they began working together. Jed learned to respect Fitz and not long after he gave the man respect he’d obviously earned. The President called him friend. This was a man he could trust with the most secret of secrets and would always depend on for the best, if not necessarily the easiest, advice on military events. Something was up if he wanted to meet almost clandestinely.  


“Now, for sure, you’re scaring me, Fitz. What’s going on?”  


“Sir, we have a situation in Qumar. So far, it’s been kept very quiet.”  


“Qumar? I know we have problems there.”  


“You don’t know this.” He opened the flap on the envelope but didn’t take out the contents yet. “I need you to know what you’re going to be seeing in these photographs.” He took a long drink of water.  


“Fitz, if you don’t start telling me what the hell is going on, I’m going to fire you.”  


The Admiral smiled at the empty threat. “Yes, sir. I’ll start with how we got to this point. Qumar is a strategic base for refueling our fighters.”  


“I know that. I’m also aware of the rebels fighting for things we think they should have.”  


“Yes, sir. The government is attempting to hold down the rebels by arresting them and detaining them in prisons.”  


That kind of information wasn’t a surprise. “I can imagine. I don’t know we should do there. I like the rebels. They’re moving toward democracy and that’s what I want to have there.”  


“Sir, we have information regarding a prison called Makan Almawt. It’s located outside a town called Kafu. The people incarcerated are charged with no specific crime.” He had to tell it all and hated to continue. “These are primarily men and teenage boys but there are reports of some women and their children being held as well. American troops have been deployed to this prison.”  


Anger came to the surface pretty quickly. “Since it’s government run, why are we supplying troops to a prison?”  


Fitz swallowed visibly and turned his head from the President. “We are more than assisting the Qumares. In fact, Mr. President, American troops are running the prison.”  


That was news and the President didn’t like it. He reiterated, “Why are our troops manning a prison for people who haven’t committed crimes other than protesting? Prisons with women and children in them. Give me some kind of answer, Admiral.”  


“Sir, it gets worse.” Fitz couldn’t say what needed saying. He closed his eyes trying to find the courage. “Makan Almawt is a brutal camp. The soldiers assigned there are engaged in torture.”  


The word made President Bartlet flinch. “Torture? Real torture? I thought that went out with the Spanish Inquisition.”  


“Of course, it didn’t, sir. You know that.”  


Sure he did but the United States couldn’t be involved in anything that diabolical. “Yeah, but, Fitz, you got to tell me exactly what you’re talking about. Is this based on rumor?”  


“It’s not rumor, Mr. President. We have photographic proof.” He tapped the envelope lying on the table. "One of the guards there took pictures of what was going on. I have them here.” He pulled the envelope closer to himself. “These are disturbing photos. I hesitate in showing them to you.”  


“Too late.” He put his hand on the envelope to pull it more toward him but Fitz held onto it. “Admiral, I understand you’re telling me that a government I have no affection for is warehousing dissidents for no legitimate crimes. Aside from the kind of effrontery that already is, you’re telling me that American soldiers are running this camp. That Americans are the ones administering torture on the rebels, the Almutamaridin.”  


Fitzwallace looked stricken. His façade of military precision was broken by the horror he was about to show his President. “These prisoners are Muslim and their faith doesn’t permit men to be naked in front of other men or anyone else for that matter. And since this is Qumar their women must wear a burka which is,”  


Bartlet interrupted, “I know what a burka is. These women are being held naked?”  


“Some are being held naked.”  


“And the children?”  


“Males from about age ten or 12 are being held with the men and most are naked. The younger ones are naked in the section of Makan Almawt holding the women.”  


His hand went to the envelope and wanted to grab it away. “Show me the pictures, Fitz. That’s what you brought me down here for.”  


The first picture showed a person whose gender was unidentifiable. He, literally covered from head to foot, stood on a small wooden box with outstretched arms. Wires were connected to his fingers, one on each hand. “This detainee was told that they had to stand on that box for hours on end. The threat was electrocution if he fell off. It ended 19 hours later when the prisoner fell off the box. The electrodes were real and the latest intel says he’s comatose”  


Jed stared at the photograph. “Our soldiers did this?” He didn’t expect an answer. “Show me more.”  


The next photo showed a naked man seated on the floor. He was in a cell, a cage, where his ankles were threaded through the bars and chained together. His arms were chained behind him and a black hood covered his head. “How long was he like this?”  


“Not sure but the photo was taken the second day of his being like this.”  


The Admiral could feel the fury in the President’s soul when Jed demanded, “Show me another.”  


Two naked men with hoods performing fellatio. The man kneeling sported the words ass on one cheek and hole on the other. The next displayed a man masturbating but judging the hairlessness, this person wasn’t a man yet. This was a boy. The Private standing in front of him was laughing compounding his humiliation since the guard was a woman.  


The President turned away after he picked up a photo of a woman stripped naked, her wrists chained above her head. A Sergeant held one of her breasts in his hand, the other between her legs and his mouth sucking at her nipple. “How many photos are there? I have to see them all,” he had to concentrate on his breathing, “but I’m not sure I can keep going right now.”  


“Sir, I brought you a dozen pictures. I have about 60 more in my possession. All of them are similar to these.” The Admiral’s humanity was being tested and his fury was evident, “I left out the ones of the little boys and girls.”  


“What did they do to the little girls?” He knew in his head what was done but he wanted verification from Fitzwallace.  


The Admiral’s heavy, strong fist pounded the table with one incomparable blow. “You need me to say it out loud?” He’d read the reports and the anger from that reading hadn’t settled yet. His dark, piercing eyes stared at the President’s deep blues. “They . . . penetrated them with fingers, objects,” he had to stop a second, “They raped them. And just to prove they were equal opportunity monsters, they did that to the boys as well.”  


Jed stood up and Fitzwallace followed suit. “Just sit down.” He continued to walk around the table and again and again. “How many prisoners are kept there?”  


“About 1,200 at any given time but there are reports of their having moved at least 28,000 people through there.”  


Fitz thanked God for the sound proof setting because Bartlet thundered at the top of his boisterous best, “Twenty-eight thousand?” Like Fitz before him, his hand slammed into the table knocking over Fitz’s glass of water. “How many left the prison in pine boxes?”  


“Probably close to three thousand.”  


The fist smashed into the table again. This time he grimaced while still yelling. “Three thousand! Who gave that militia the orders to treat human beings like that?”  


“Sir, I’d like to go to Kafu in Qumar and head the investigation myself. Major General Catherine Dominowski oversees the place.”  


“Court martial her ass.”  


The President’s moral compass wasn’t going to point in any direction but fire them all. “Sir, we have to investigate all these allegations in these photos before we fire anyone.”  


“Someone gave her orders. I want to know where she got those orders and his ass gets fired, too.”  


Silence filled the room with a scathing pressure pushing both men to their limits. Speaking was impossible. Rage, on the other hand, was easy. Jed worked his way back to his seat and dropped down in it. “Show me more.”  


Admiral Fitzwallace took out the remaining images. He and the President stared at each one with an odd mixture of pity and supreme wrath. When all the pictures got reviewed, the depth of disturbance multiplied time and time again.  


Jed began to cradle the hand he threw into the table. The increasing size and swelling told him what he had done but he didn’t care. Fitz never looked so vulnerable in all the times Jed had ever been with him. “We have to stop this. We have to go there and admit to the world what we’ve been a party to.”  


“No, sir. It’s the military that caused this situation and we’ll take care of it. I think it best if we keep you far away from all this, as far as possible.”  


It probably was better that the President known to be a harbinger of peace not be associated with a place of torture and humiliation. He easily could have hidden behind an “I didn’t know” excuse but he vowed never to do that. “I appreciate your trying to shield me from this atrocity but I am the Commander in Chief. Truman created the cliché and I agree. The buck stops here. What are your plans, Admiral?”  


“I’m going to tour Makan Almawt. I want to see it for myself and get the names of all involved.”  


“They’ll clean it all up as best they can. You know that.”  


“Which is why I’m not announcing my visit. It will be a surprise inspection.”  


Jed’s hand started making its injury known. As he rubbed the offended finger, he asked, “When are you going?”  


“The quickest I can get there is in two days. I’ll leave tomorrow in the late afternoon. I want to set up a system for gathering the intel I’ll need.”  


“We’ll want names of those incarcerated, their files, all of them. I want to know the reasons they were jailed. I want to see if there is any good reason to hold these people.”  


“Yes, sir. I’m going to put together a small group of trusted men and women who each will have their singular duty. Once we get all that, I can put it together into a report that will help close down the facility.”  


“You’re talking about weeks, even months of work! These people can’t wait that long. We have to get them out of there.”  


“It has to happen in a rational manner. We can’t just open the gates.”  


“Why not?”  


“Because the rebels will use our actions to their advantage and do you really want to piss off the government of Qumar?”  


“I don’t give a good Goddamn about the government of Qumar. We, Americans, do not torture people ever. I don’t care what the reason. We don’t have anything to do with torture. Where the fuck is the Geneva Convention?”  


Fitz predicted this President would react just like this President did. It was his job as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs to curtail the President’s reaction. “Sir, I know you’re angry and upset. I am, too. We have to be careful. You can’t be associated with any part of this. It will hurt you politically.”  


A slight shaking started in his injured hand. “I can’t run for a third term. I don’t care what happens to me politically. This travesty will not continue during my Presidency. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”  


“Mr. President, don’t decide right now. You just learned about this. Give yourself time to think it through. Talk to Leo. He’ll advise you well.”  


With a quiet demanding complete attention, the President said, “You will tell no one about this until I tell you to. Do you understand?”  


There were a few reasons why the President wanted the situation hidden for now but he didn’t feel it was his need to know. “I serve at the pleasure of the President. Whatever you ask, I will do.”  


Somewhere in the recesses of his brain, Jed was forming his own plan and no one was going to like it. “Remember what you just said, Admiral. You serve at my pleasure.” Looking at the array of photos on the table, he picked up the photo of the man standing on the box waiting to be electrocuted. “I’m taking this with me.”  


Walking out of the Sit Room, he found Charlie. “We’re going to the Residence.”  


“Not the Oval?”  


He stopped walking. “You’re right, let’s go to the Oval then I want you to call whoever the medic of the day is.”  


His heart skipped a beat. “Sir, are you feeling okay?”  


Holding out the swollen hand, he murmured. “I got a little angry.”  


Seeing the swollen hand, Charlie changed the plan. “You’re going to sit here and wait. I’ll get the medic to come see you. You might need an x-ray.”  


Charlie followed through as the President waited and had time to think about the information Admiral Fitzwallace shared with him. He was barely aware as he was walked to the infirmary for an x-ray. Even less aware of the x-ray. Then Abbey arrived. “Oh, what made you do this?”  


“I punched the table in the Sit Room.”  


She laughed. “You punched a table? What in God’s name for?”  


His face tightened in anger and he blew her off. “Who cares? I did it and now it’s broken.”  


Smart-ass mode was common when he was upset so she went with it. “You or the table?”  


“What?”  


“Did you break the table or did the table break you?”  


He didn’t bother to answer.  


It wasn’t until Captain Susan Lucaso brought out the casting material that he paid close attention.  


“Mr. President, this cast is temporary. I’ll get you a less bulky splint to wear but right now we need to have the bone immobilized. I can get the right splint for you by tomorrow morning.”  


“Do you have to do this? Can’t you just wrap it with one of those stretchy bandage things?”  


The Captain pointed at the x-ray still on the light board. She put her index finger on the site where the bone was broken through. “You didn’t crack the bone, sir. You broke it. Fortunately, it’s not displaced but it’s a complete fracture. You do things well, sir.”  


Abbey took a closer look at the x-ray. “She’s right, Jed. You broke the head of the metatarsal. Nice going.”  


“So, I broke a finger. I was mad.”  


Aware that he gets cranky when hurt, Abbey teased, “It’s called a boxer’s fracture. That sounds a lot better than breaking a pinky finger.” Finally, she got a smile from him. The Captain has to order a boxer's fracture splint. Apparently they don't keep one on supply." She joked, "My man is tough. He has a boxer's fracture."  


“That’s me. I’m tough.” He knew that he was tough in certain situations but the one he was looking into now made him feel weak and insignificant. “Put the damn cast on but I want that smaller splint thing by tomorrow morning. I have things I need to do.”  


The cast was placed over the broken bone and up to the middle of his lower arm. Captain Lucaso told him, “This will dry pretty quickly. It’s synthetic, not plaster.”  


Fifteen minutes later, Jed and Abbey left the infirmary. “You want to tell me what got you this angry? You have a history of whacking things when you get mad but only when you’re on the edge of frenzy.”  


“Really, frenzy? That’s what you call it?”  


“Don’t evade the question. What’s wrong?”  


They stopped outside of Debbie’s office. “I can’t tell you right now. I want to but it’s code word clearance only.” So, it was a lie but he had to keep this news from his wife. “I wish even I didn’t know.”  


She kissed him and he held on a little longer than usual. “Are you sure that hand isn’t hurting more than you let on?”  


“It’s just annoying right now. I’ll take some aspirin.”  


“Ibuprofen. Stay away from aspirin.”  


“Yes, doctor.” He walked away and she wondered what holy hell he was going to be facing. It was something big and she knew his heart would be breaking just like his finger broke. Without worrying about anyone overhearing, she called after him, “I love you.”  


Turning back with a smile, he called back, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of tortures used in this imagined prison are based on actual photographs taken at Abu Ghraib.  
> \


	3. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The President spends the day beating around the bush.

**Making Plans**

The sky darkened as it should when late afternoon comes around. It was time to go home. Jed sat behind his desk and stared at the photo he took from Fitz earlier in the day. It was the least visually disturbing of all he’d seen but it triggered memories of the other photos and those would never erase from his mind. Torture. Torture – the word should have been arcane but it was still happening in his world. It was being performed by American military who knew better. At least he thought they did but apparently not. He was appalled and broken even more badly than his finger. Murmuring to himself, he whispered, “The buck stops here.” 

From across the room, he heard Leo say, “Channeling Harry Truman, are we?” He made his way to the chair next to the desk and sat. Jed still held the alarming picture. “What are you looking at?” 

Jed slipped the photo inside a file and placed the folder in his briefcase. “Just nothing. Nothing at all.” 

“I hear you met with Fitz all by yourself this afternoon. I thought Nancy and I were supposed to be there. We waited here. You never showed up.” Knowing he’d get no information if he didn’t lighten up, Leo kept talking, “I didn’t know where you were until I got the call from the infirmary that you broke your pinky.” 

Going with smart-ass, Jed informed him, “It’s called a boxer’s break. You know like Ali and Frazier.” 

“They’re both heavy weights. You’re a little small for a heavy weight.” Jed said nothing. “I hear you beat up the Sit Room table.” 

“Already the story gets around?” 

Leo knew Washington and all the machinations that made government compelling and repelling at the same time. Something was going on that he didn’t know about. If the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs meets privately with the President then something was up. Straight answers he might not get but he had to ask straight questions. There wasn’t time for end runs and insinuations. 

“Mr. President, what the hell is going on that only you and Fitz know about? I need to know.” 

Leo was his best friend and the Chief of Staff. Either role would have him ready to confess his problem but he couldn’t. Cajoling Leo wasn’t going to work. He had to be hard line and he hated doing that. Leo said he had to know. Jed looked straight into his eyes and said, “You’ll know when I say you should know. Okay?” 

Getting kicked in the teeth can happen many ways and Leo just had his obliterated. “When you think I should know? That’s when I’ll find out?” 

“Hey, you catch on quick. Ever think of government work? Nah, you’re too smart for that.” His cane was just out of reach. Pointing at it, he said, “Grab that thing for me, would you?” 

Leo handed this friend the walking stick with the brass knob on the end. “This is pretty handsome for a cane. Your taste isn’t that good. Who gave it to you?” The cane was a gift from Leo and it was quite attractive. “Someone who used to work here left it on his way out the door. He got fired for being too nosy. Wonder if he ever straightened out his life.” 

“Ha ha. I get it. You’re not talking,” With Jed’s one hand wielding the cane and other holding his briefcase using uninjured fingers, Leo still had trouble keeping up with his friend’s military stride. They walked out onto the portico. “but I know you and I know you broke that finger because you were mad. If it happened with Fitz in the room then it’s military.” Jed said nothing. “Okay, so I’m right so far.” 

They got to the steps leading to the Residence, “I think I’ll need the elevator today. Can’t use the cane and the hand rail when one hand has a boxer’s fracture.” “You’re sure playing up that boxer’s fracture thing.” 

The got inside and the door slid closed. “I didn’t even know it was a thing. The doc who set it told me what it’s called. I was going to go with broken pinky.” 

When they exited, Leo stopped walking. “I’m going to go home and if you feel the need to talk about the reason for your boxer fracture, I’ll be happy to talk.” 

As he walked toward his rooms, he didn’t bother to turn around. “See you in the morning, Leo.” 

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.” 

Leo didn’t see Jed cringe. Even his best friend didn’t call him by name any more. It was out of respect for the position but there were times when he just wanted to be Jed. Thank God, behind the double door in front of him, his wife was waiting for him. They’d eat dinner at the small table in the master bedroom and he’d read the briefs he’d brought from the Oval. Reading briefs was all he read lately. 

Walking into the bedroom, he sighed. If the gods were working tonight, he’d get some uninterrupted sleep with his beautiful wife curling into his body as they slept cradled by each other. Hope springs eternal. Then again, sometimes the springs are too old and worn out. That’s how he felt. 

Then he found Abbey in the bathroom taking a bubble bath. With a cunning wink, she purred, “I was hoping you’d get here in time. The water’s nice and warm. Want to join me?” 

“Let me dump all this and I’ll be back.” The briefcase and most of his clothes ended up on the floor. He walked in wearing a smile and a cast on his hand. “Can I get this thing wet?” 

“It’s not plaster so it’s okay.” She held up a box of saran wrap, “but I already thought about that. Let me wrap this around it.” 

“Wrapping me in plastic wrap? You getting kinky?” 

“Just give me your arm so I can wrap this before you jump in.” She wrapped the plastic wrap around the cast. "You'd do anything to get out of pool therapy."

"I'm still going to get wet. This way is just more fun."

Abbey gently wrapped his right hand from the tips of his fingers down to his elbow. She was chatting to him but he didn’t hear a thing. All he could do was think of the one photo of an American soldier wrapping a young woman in some kind of cloth so that she couldn’t move. Her face was covered in a hood so he was spared the sight of her panicked and shame-filled eyes. He could only imagine. 

Her husband was miles away. “Hey, earth to Josiah, you still here with me?” 

Gaining awareness, he saw the concern on her face. “I’m fine. Am I waterproof now?” A nod gave him permission to enter the warm tub with his wife. “You’re so beautiful.” “Jethro, you’re preoccupied with something making you crazy. What is it?” 

Having her know him that well gave his soul comfort but his intellect screamed at him to shut up. She didn’t have to know yet. “Things got complicated today and I swear to God, I can’t tell you about it yet.” 

Caring for this complex man told her it was something that was testing his mind, his emotions, his instincts and with the furrow on his brow, testing his humanity. She assured him, “I’m here, Babe. You can tell me and I swear it won’t leave my lips.” 

He wanted to. He wanted her to know. She’d understand but he didn’t want to tell her. It was too painful to believe these actions were being taken in the name of the United States and therefore in his name. It was on him. All the machinations of yes or no flew through his mind. It all added up to, “There’s something going on and it’s serious but I can’t tell you yet. Right now only a tight handful of people are aware and that group doesn’t even include Leo.” 

More than ever, she wanted to know but more than ever she understood that he wasn’t going to tell her. He needed this night to be a respite from whatever it was, from whoever it was and wherever it was. She could do that. It would protect him and that was her priority. 

“I haven’t called down for dinner yet. Anything you have a taste for?” 

He slapped at the water and it splashed onto her face. “A little shower sex maybe?” 

Wiping her eyes with a bit of sham irritation, she took hands full of water and got him back. “I meant after shower sex!” 

They stayed in the warm water playing like kids at the beach. A shower came next and Jed’s unsteady stance cut that idea short. “We can play in bed. Can’t have you bonking your head. I can also unwrap that hand. Saran wrap isn’t all that sexy.” 

“So, can we dry each other off?” 

“I will be more than happy to dry you, pumpkin.” 

The nickname made him cringe almost as much as when she called him Jethro. “I’m not sure but I think I like Jethro better than pumpkin.” 

She took a terry cloth towel from the warming handle and patted his backside. “Some men don’t have a nice ass and you do. I always liked your pumpkin butt.” 

He stole the towel from her and began to tenderly dry her breasts. “And you complain when I call you Sweet Knees.” 

“I don’t complain. I just don’t get it.” 

“Should I compare your legs to squash like vegetation or some sort of fowl? You have sweet knees, Sweet Knees, and I love your legs.” 

Another towel wrapped around her body as he wrapped one around his waist. Ever pragmatic, Abbey walked out to her dresser calling back to him, “I have to call down for dinner. You had mac and cheese for lunch. We’re going to eat healthy tonight.” 

He hated eating healthy. Usually that meant something that tasted like cardboard that someone waved a lemon over. “Do we have to?” 

“It will be delicious. I promise you.” 

Abbey was right. Shrimp and Grits followed by pistachio ice cream with warm chocolate chip cookies and the President was a happy boy. He dabbed at the crumbs trailing down his chin and told his bride, “I have to do some reading in the study. I won’t be late.” 

“You want company? I’m still reading that McCullough biography of Truman. I can read by the fireplace and not bother you.” 

Hand in hand they made their way to the study. She carried his briefcase just because it was easier for him and he no longer worried about how it looked. He was physically weaker. That was to be expected with his MS and at this time in his disease. It was getting worse though no one would admit it. The cane was a giveaway but there was more. His vision would blur for periods of an hour or more. His hands shook but he covered that by keeping them in his lap or sticking the offending hand into a pocket. No one noticed those subterfuges except Abbey. She’d learned when to chastise him and when the stress of his job told her to lay off. On this night, she’d decided not to go after him. Something big was coming and he didn’t need her pestering him. 

She sat by the fireplace and began to read. He sat at a small desk across the room and opened up some files. The third one he wanted to read held the picture he took from Fitz. It fell out when he pulled out the brief. It landed on the floor. “Damn it.” It landed face up just out of his reach. With his balance not the greatest, he let it stay there. Maybe his cane could help. As he reached for the extension, it slipped from his hand and rattled when it hit the floor. “Double damn.” 

She didn’t say anything but looked over to see the photo and his cane on the floor. “I’ll get it.” 

“No!” He practically shouted at her. 

“I can get it. No big deal.” She leaned over and saw the form standing on a box all covered in black. “Oh, my God. Who is this?” 

Grabbing the photo and hiding it again, he just said, “No one.” His enraged soul stabbed at him. ‘No one’ indicated not caring. More quietly he added, “No one I know.” 

“This is what you and Fitz were talking about today. I know how you feel about . . .” she didn’t know how to put it. “How you feel about, well, whatever is going on.” 

“It’s called torture and yes, Fitz was telling me about a place where this is going on.” 

“Where?” 

“You know too much already. I can’t say anything else.” 

She embraced him and felt the quiver of fear pulsing through him. “Sweetheart, please take care of yourself. I know how you hate things like this.” His head sunk lower. “I know what this does to you.” 

“I have to make it stop and I’m going to. You won’t be happy but I’m going to make it stop. No one should be treated like that.” 

“Why won’t I be happy? You’ve done a lot of work to put your father’s abuse in its place.” 

“My father is not any part of this.” The idea he had was not going to be received well by anyone, least of all his wife but he’d made his mind up and no one dare defy the direct order of the Commander in Chief. Failure to obey his orders was a crime and he decided that he would take his orders to that extreme. 

“Now you’re scaring and maddening me. What are you going to do?” 

There were any number of things he wanted to do about it but one thing stuck in his head and no matter how many reasons he could enumerate, only one made sense to him. It wasn’t going to make sense to anyone else but if you’re Commander in Chief then you have a straight flush in spades with Ace high. 

Lying was better for now. “Not sure yet but I’m going to make it stop.” 

Abbey took the picture in her hand again and stared at it. “What are the wires for?” 

“They were connected to an electrical source. If he fell off the box, the current would surge.” 

“He was electrocuted?” 

She had the photo. There was a story about it and he knew that. He also knew his wife wouldn’t let him get away without telling her. It was one photo. Maybe she wouldn’t put it together that this horror was one of hundreds, maybe thousands. Then again, she wasn’t stupid. “He fell off the box after a full day of standing. He’s in a coma now.” 

Her stomach turned and her anger flared easily. “In a coma? It would be kinder for them to kill him.” 

“People recover from comas, don’t they?” 

Doctor mode her checked in. “Yes, there’s always the potential but an electrocution causes all sorts of neurological damage.” 

The images from the afternoon with Fitz flashed like a sick slide show. His gaze faded far away and Abbey could see there was a lot more to this photo than he was willing to talk about. He had to tell her, “Really, Abbey, I can’t say more. You have already seen things you shouldn’t have. I have to have your word. You never saw that photo. Swear that you’ll promise me.” 

She wasn’t clueless. This was going to blow up huge and when it hit the media, her husband was going to be in the thick of it. “I won’t say a word, Jed. I promise.” “I’m going to hold you to that. Do you understand?” 

This interrogation and absolute secrecy gave her pause. “What are you planning, Jed?” He could be almost honest. “I’m not sure, yet.” As President and husband, he knew it was going to upset her. That’s why he was approaching an out and out lie. 

“Josiah Edward Bartlet, don’t you dare lie to me.” 

“Honestly, I’m not.” His hand was throbbing a bit. That could divert Abbey’s attention. Holding the cast up in a pathetic position, he told her, “This is starting to hurt again. I just took some Tylenol. I can’t take any more yet, can I?” 

“Not yet. Let me get you an ice pack and maybe you should give up using that hand for the night. Tomorrow you’ll get the splint and life will be a bit easier.” 

Before she left to get the cold pack, she kissed him. “I’ll see you in the bedroom, so pack up, Pumpkin. No more work tonight.” 

“No more work tonight.” 

He watched her go and his mind buzzed. She was not going to be happy with what he planned. No one was going to be happy and that was just fine with him.


	4. Moral Absolutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are moral absolutes despite thoughts to the contrary.

**Moral Absolutes**

First things first. Dr. Lucaso had the new splint and the cast was removed. This was a black glove-like thing that kept his hand in the right position and best of all, he could take it off.  


“Let me warn you right now, sir. Do not remove the splint. Showering and such, yes, remove it but it goes back on immediately.”  


“For how long?”  


“I’d like to x-ray that hand once a week but I think you should be stable enough in maybe a month and a half.”  


Six weeks encumbered seemed like overkill. “It’s not that bad. It doesn’t even hurt this morning.” A little white lie. He was getting good at them.  


She place the splint on his hand. “This is going to keep you from needing to wear a splint for two months or more but only if you actually wear it.” Slipping it over the offended hand, she showed him a small flat knob on the side. “Once the splint is on, turn this knob until you feel it tighten enough so you can’t move your fingers.”  


She tightened the splint and he felt the pressure. “That’s starting to hurt.”  


“It has to be tight. Once the swelling goes down, it will be more comfortable. Right now, the injury is still acute.”  


“Yeah, fine. Can I go now?”  


Charlie waited for him just outside the exam room. Together they made their way to the Oval. “That looks more comfortable than the cast. A lot less noticeable, too.”  


The President was inside his own head. “I want you to get Finlay to my office. I need to talk to him.”  


Finlay was the President’s tailor. His sole job was keeping all the blue and occasional other color suits in order and properly fitting the Commander in Chief. “You need him to check out your suit?”  


“What I need him for is none of your business. So, get him in to see me ASAP and don’t make a thing out of it.”  


“Yes, sir.”  


“What’s on the agenda today?”  


“Admiral Fitzwallace is waiting for you and then Leo and Nancy McNally want to see you and the Admiral. I guess your little disappearing act yesterday made them all a little squeamish.”  


Under his breath, he muttered, “Yeah, I bet it did. Get Finlay here now.” He walked into the Oval and found Admiral Fitzwallace seated on the couch. The man stood to greet his President. “Sit down. I’m going to tell you what we’re doing and you’re not going to be happy.”  


He sat as the President sat across from him. “Leo and Nancy are a trifle upset about our meeting privately yesterday.”  


“I can imagine, Fitz. They’re going to even less amenable after I explain to you what’s going to happen now.”  


“You can’t.”  


“Can’t what?”  


He was about to refuse a direct order from his Commander in Chief. “You cannot go to Kufa to see the prison.”  


“I’m going with you. You can’t order me not to go. I outrank you and, as annoying as that is since I’m not military, it is what’s going to happen. We leave this afternoon.”  


“It won’t be safe. Ron Butterfield will throw a fit and he’d be right!”  


A sharp knock on the door brought Leo and Nancy into the Oval. Fitz was standing over the President dwarfing him. Leo had to ask, “Okay, you two, what are you scheming to do?”  


Nancy walked over to the Admiral. “You’re up to something. I knew it yesterday when you and that one didn’t show at the meeting.”  


Few people had the chutzpah to call the President “that one” and Nancy McNally was one of them. “I know what you showed him, Fitz. I’ve got my own sources.”  


“I’m on my way to Qumar this afternoon to work the investigation.”  


Leo was still uninformed. “What the hell are you all talking about? And why do I have to ask that question?”  


The President took control. “Everybody sit down. We’re going to work this all out here and now.”  


The horror of Makan Almawt became the sole subject of discussion. It was agreed that the crimes committed there in the name of the American Military were atrocities that no civilized nation would or could put up with. “Now that we’re all on the same page, this is how we’re going to handle the situation.” The President stood up and all wanted to follow. “Oh, just stay in your seats, please. This demand of royalty crap bugs the hell out of me.”  


Leo stayed in his chair. “No, it doesn’t. You pull rank all the time.”  


Fitz got up and confronted the President. Half a foot taller and heavier, the Admiral dwarfed his Commander in Chief. “You don’t know the half of what he’s planning. I’m counting on you two to shake him to his senses.”  


Pulling himself up to his full five feet six, the Commander in Chief informed the room, “I’m going to Qumar.”  


Leo jumped up, “What the hell for?”  


“I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. I go where I want to go and I am going to Qumar to shut down this prison.”  


She was in a room of hot heads and hers was the hottest. “Don’t be stupid. There’s no reason for you to go.”  


The Admiral paced, “I told him that.”  


“Tell me anything you want to tell me. I don’t care. This kind of treatment is done over and over again around the world. Maybe we need to show that the people in power, the Presidents, the Chairmen, the Whatevers are not going to tolerate it. Then, it can end.” He parked himself behind the Resolute Desk. Power sat behind that desk and he was going to utilize his. “I don’t want this to be POTUS is coming to visit. No pomp and minimal secret service. I want to see the reality of what is happening. I’ll be walking two steps behind the Admiral. When we get back here, I’m going to be able to get called to witness at the Courts-Martial of those involved.”  


Leo moved to the chair next to the desk. “Jed, I know you. I know how you feel about these things.”  


“These things are torture. I will not tolerate my military being part of this. You have to understand that. You were in Viet Nam. Shot down! You could have been a POW and almost were. You want us to be associated with a place like Makan Almawt?”  


It was a dumb question with an obvious answer. So, no one said a thing. But if looks could kill, Leo, Nancy and Fitz were doing their bests. Nancy broke the silence. “You’re going to do this.” Jed nodded. “Does Abbey know?”  


“I’ll call her when we’re in the air.”  


Shaking her head, Nancy said, “Let me know before you call her. I want to be in Colorado or Montana or someplace like that.”  


“That’s why I’m not telling her until I’m on the way.”  


The arguing could have continued but they all knew their President. When his mind was settled on a plan, there was no changing his mind. That’s how the Middle East Accord happened. No one believed in it except Jed Bartlet. It was an unstable peace but it was working. His second Nobel Prize, this one for peace, sat on a shelf in a closet. He wasn’t sure where. It was his belief in moral absolutes that marked him a pacifist, at least as much of a pacifist a President could be.  


Too many times, Leo had to talk him into the proper military action. “You can’t go. You are the President of the United States. You’re not Indiana Jones off on a quest.”  


“You can stop talking any time you want, Leo. I’m going. I have to be willing to do more than point a finger. We have to show the world we are serious about the Geneva Convention. That I’m serious about it.”  


Another knock on the door had Charlie poking his head in. “Sir, Finlay is here. Should I have him wait?”  


“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I need him.”  


Leo was puzzled, “What the hell do you need a tailor for?”  


“Well, I can’t don a uniform I haven’t earned but I’m not about to wear Notre Dame sweats to look casual. I need clothes that don’t announce my presence.”  


The best friend sighed, “Oh, Lord. You’re really going to do this.”  


“You want to come?” Jed laughed. “It would be nice to see you wearing something other than whatever is on the cover of GQ this month.”  


Fitzwallace had to join in teasing. “You could wear your uniform. What rank were you in the Air Force? Second Louie?”  


“I was a Captain when I left the service back in 1971.”  


“Not bad. I was a Lieutenant Commander in ’71.”  


The boasting amused the President but totally exasperated Dr. McNally. “You boys going to have a pissing contest soon? If you are, I’m out of here.” All the men with mouths open stared at the lady calling them out. “I was in the service, too, you know. Unlike these two sissies, I was a Marine.”  


The President roared with laughter. “The woman was a Marine! Hot damn, Nancy. I didn’t know that. I just read the part of your CV that said PhD in Political Science.”  


Leo brought them all back to reality. Regardless of the years of military experience three of them had, the most important person in the room had none. “Mr. President, you can’t go to Qumar on holiday. You might not be dressed like a President but you are very recognizable. For Pete’s sake, you use a cane daily now.”  


“The ADA allows me to do what I choose to do. Add that to me being Commander in Chief, I am going to Qumar with Fitz later today. If either of you wants to join us, I’d be happy to have the company.” The Admiral’s eyes opened very wide. “Oh, don’t worry, Fitz. Just you and me.”  


No one knew what to say to dissuade the President from going to Qumar. It was a lost cause anyhow. Once Jed Bartlet decided, he acted. Looking at Fitz, he asked, “Did you bring all the photos you have of this place?” The Admiral conceded. Turning attention to Leo and Nancy he told them, “You’re going to look at these pictures with me. Then you’re going to try harder to keep me here in Washington but don’t. I haven’t seen all of them yet. The ones that I have seen are disgusting examples of what men and women can do. I need to be there. I need to know where the woman running the prison got permission to treat other human beings like she has these people being treated. There are children in this prison. We don’t do that.”  


Admiral Fitzwallace emptied the portfolio of photos onto the table in front of the couch. Leo pulled the chairs closer and they all went through the photos one at a time. The more they all saw, the less they all said. The final picture displayed a man masturbating. Two small girls sat watching him. Both were crying. The President held his emotions in as much check as he could. “I have to go and stop this.”  


Nancy couldn’t argue. “Yes, it has to stop but are you aware of the fallout from revealing this will bring? We will be crucified by enemies and opening us up to invasion.”  


“Invasion? From where? Canada?”  


She could see him purposely not listening to any reasonable argument. “We will lose status as a superpower.”  


“Torture gives us status?” He waited for an answer. Again, there was no appropriate response. “If we want to be a world leader then we have to set the example. Torture will not be any part of the legacy of the United States. We have done enough damage to indigenous people here and now we think it’s okay to brutalize people in other countries? Come on, Nancy. You know better.”  


“I’m a woman of color working in a man's world, sir. I know what atrocities we’ve accepted in the past and certainly we don’t accept them now. We can take Makan Almawt down without putting you in the middle of it.”  


“I am in the middle of it now. I am responsible for our behavior in this world. I’m supposedly Commander in Chief. Four star anything in any of our military answers to me.” He put his hands on the photos to find the one he’d seen the day before. “Here. Look at this.” The soldier handling the woman’s breast and clitoris sucked on her nipple. “This is being done in our name. It is obvious that it has to stop. Maybe if they see the actual President of the United States is there to dismantle this barbarism then it will happen faster and we can gain power. We will prove that humane treatment is the only way to settle disputes.”  


“Moral absolutes.” Leo knew that this was a weakness and a strength in this President. “The world is not black and white. It’s shades of gray with nothing being all black or all white.”  


Jed tossed a handful of pictures at him. “Look at those and tell me what shades of gray you see.” He called out, “Charlie!” The young man entered. “Bring Finlay in here. I need clothes. I’m leaving town for a bit.”  


“Where’re you going? I don’t see a trip on your schedule.”  


“You and Debbie will have to reschedule my next three days, maybe four. Leo can help figure things out.”  


“Will Mrs. Bartlet be going with you?”  


“No and you will not tell her anything about it. I’ll call her later when I’m in the air. Now, send Finlay in.”


	5. Beginning the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting there is half the fun

**Beginning the End**

The flight was going to be almost 14 hours. Fitzwallace and the President were going to Kufa with a barely passable contingent. Two secret service agents, Admiral Robert Hackett, the President’s physician and half a dozen others to wait on the President. 

“This is a beautiful plane. All I needed was a place to sleep but this is a mini Air Force 1.” 

“It’s a Gulfstream G650. It has the range to make it easily to Qumar and still gives a nice ride.” 

“No kidding.” Jed stretched out in one of the luxurious seats and leaned it backward a bit. “If you can’t be on AF1, this will do just fine.” 

The Admiral wore his dress uniform, the same uniform he pretty much wore daily. All the fruit salad that decorated his chest and the gold braid on his sleeves told the world that he was a four star Admiral. The President, however, wore khakis, a black tee-shirt with a leather baseball jacket. His wardrobe was pretty much all khakis, tee-shirts and the leather jacket. The only oddity was the military boots he wore. He still was confused when Finlay insisted he wear the boot over the hem of his pants legs. “Just looks silly to me.” 

“You wear boots over your trousers so that you can keep the sand away from your skin. It can do a number on you.” 

“See what a little explanation can do? That makes sense.” He wanted the boots off when he kicked his feet up so, he started untying the tall sandy colored desert kicks. “I never served and I know that makes a lot of people upset. I lean toward pacifism and I’m Commander in Chief of our Armed Forces.” 

“So you’re 4F. A lot of people were during Viet Nam. At least yours wasn’t fabricated.” 

Jed dropped one boot on the floor and started on the other. “How do you know I didn’t fabricate something? I wanted to go to school, not war.” 

“First off, with your mind, going to school was the best thing for our country. Secondly, your arm kept you out of active service.” 

While he never denied the deviation, he never proclaimed it either. Most people didn’t notice. “I still don’t think Josh, CJ, Toby and Sam know that. How do you?” 

“When you were using the manual wheelchair and pushing it by yourself, it was pretty obvious.” 

The other boot dropped and he flipped his legs up on the recliner. “Great. I really didn’t want that information to get around. I don’t want excuses as to why I didn’t serve.” 

“I think you’re wrong. Can I be frank with you?” 

“You mean this hasn’t been frank?” Fitz shrugged. “Okay, be frank.” 

“Truth is all you have to tell. You’re 4F for a reason. You didn’t do anything to fake a condition, no bone spurs or flat feet. You don’t have full movement in your left arm and it’s short. That disqualifies you for the military.” 

Jed turned inward and told Fitz, “My younger brother served. Leo served. I stayed behind and got scholarships. I didn’t pay anything for my education. I’ve lived a charmed life where all I had to do was live up to whatever I wanted to live up to.” 

“No one lives a charmed life and I know about your father. You earned every bit of your education and certainly gave back to your world with it. Two Nobel Prizes, sir. So you weren’t in Hanoi. You were doing what you needed to do.” 

“And we drop the subject. Tell me what happens when we land.” 

“First things first. We go directly to Makan Almawt. No stop at the camp. No greeting the troops. We walk in and demand to see the prison. I have Lieutenant Commander Calvin Malvois ready to go into the files and start finding the information we’ll need.” 

“I want him to find whatever orders were given to what’s her name? You know, the Captain running the joint?” 

“Major General Catherine Dominowski.” 

“Major General. That’s even worse. The corruption goes higher up the ranks. Wonderful.” The President was a pretty easy read and his ire was provoked. “I keep wondering where she got the idea that torture was acceptable.” 

“In wartime, it’s been a part of our history and not just our history.” 

“A history of hypocrisy. We eschew the practice, all the right words but it didn’t matter. I can’t get the images out of my head.” His breathing got labored and his jaw clenched so tightly Fitz thought he’d be breaking a molar soon. He remained silent but needed to make a phone call. “I got to call Abbey. I’d like to do that alone, if you don’t mind.” 

The Admiral left and Jed picked up a nearby phone. “Yeah, this is the President. I want to place a call to my wife. She should be in the East Wing.” He listened and said, “I’ll hold on.” 

***** 

Abbey was arranging her calendar with Lily Mays. “Do I have to go to Atlanta? It’s a beautiful city but Georgia Democratic Women’s Caucus isn’t a thrilling event.” 

“Are any of them thrilling?” 

She started writing in the meeting. “They’re fine. I just don’t like being away from Jed. When I’m gone, he doesn’t take care of himself.” 

Lily had a queer look in her eyes. “So he won’t be taking care of himself tonight or the next couple of days.” 

“The GDWC thing is next month. What are you talking about?” 

The phone rang and Lily was delighted with the interruption. “I’ll get it.” 

On the other end of the line, she heard his voice, “Lily, is Dr. Bartlet available?” 

“Yes, sir. Just let me get her and give me time to get out of the room. She doesn’t know where you are?” 

“Not yet.” 

The phone got handed off and her sweet voice answered, “Hello, Babe. It’s almost six o’clock. This couldn’t wait until we both got to the Residence?” 

“That’s why I’m calling.” 

It was another late night and she was angry about it. “You can’t keep these hours and assume you’re going to stay healthy. Jed, you’re playing with fire and you know it.” 

He didn’t know how to tell her. She was going to be beyond mad at him. So far beyond that he appreciated the fact he was in the air. He reminded her of the photo she saw the night before. It had sickened her. Then he went into the obvious things like he was President and ultimately responsible, blah, blah, blah. “And I’m on a Gulfstream somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Me and Fitz, we’re on our way to the prison where that stuff is happening.” Immediately he pulled the phone from his ear. Good thing, too. He could hear her with the receiver half a foot from his head. “Abbey, Abbey, you got to stop yelling. There’s nothing you can do about this. We’re on the way to Qumar and we’re going to stop the torture.” 

He put the phone on his lap and just waited until she stopped screaming. “You done?” 

“Josiah Edward Bartlet, how could you be so foolish and how did you convince Fitz to take you?” 

“I’m Commander in Chief. I pulled rank.” 

“Is Ron with you?” 

“Jack Phillips is here along with Bert Stoller. I’m wearing top of the line Kevlar and I’ll be fine.” 

“You’ve said that before.” He couldn’t see her tears but her voice broke the secret. “Jed, come home now.” 

So he’d been shot before. It was a shock to be sure but the bullet did its best to avoid major damage. He wasn’t going into battle. Makan Almawt was a prison run by American Military. Sure, they weren’t going to be happy to see him but he wasn’t able to run for a third term so losing their votes didn’t mean too much. “I know you’re angry with me but I have to do this. It’s personal to me. These are troops that I sent to Qumar and their behavior is on me.” 

“Please come home.” 

Dear God, he loved her. His life was hers and if he could, he’d go back to DC immediately. “I’ll be home in a few days. Keep your phone with you. I promise to call you at least twice a day.” 

“You know what I’m most afraid of?” 

Seemed obvious to him. He tried to get a little silly. “Me getting blowed up real good?” 

“That would be very, very bad but,” she took a deep breath, “I know what seeing that prison in person will do to you.” 

He’d considered that and knew his emotions might get the better of him. Counting on anger to overcome his empathy was his plan and his anger was immense. “I have to see it for myself.” 

“I’m scared, Jed.” 

“You know what?” She did but he said it. “I’m scared, too.” 

***** 

The flight was just over 14 hours long. Jed slept in the recliner wearing the clothes he wore getting onto the plane. They were rumpled now and he didn’t quite exalt that Presidential charisma he owned so well. Fitz changed into his desert fatigues but he hadn’t left his charisma at the gate. To the military people at the airport in Kufa Admiral Fitzwallace was instantly recognizable. The President pulled a black leather baseball cap over his head and traded his elegant cane for one decidedly less posh. Out of habit, Fitz wanted to hold doors open but Jed barged ahead and pushed them open for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “They’ll figure out who I am soon enough. I like this incognito thing.” 

Sergeant John Maxwell saluted. Fitz returned the salute. The Admiral snapped at the Sergeant. “I need a car and driver right now.” 

“Yes, sir.” He spun around and trotted off to get the vehicle. 

Jed had visited the troops in the past. He’d seen military zones where Americans were serving their country. Those well-prepared stop offs were coordinated like a Nijinsky ballet. He never felt threatened. No one could get near him. This felt different. So far, no one recognized the civilian accompanying Admiral Fitzwallace. 

They sat in the back of Army vehicle. The President listened as the Admiral instructed the young driver who couldn’t have been more than 20 years old. “Take us to Makan Almawt.” 

The Army Private simply said, “Yes, sir.” 

Jed looked at his friend and advisor, “Are you ready for this?” 

“Sir, I’ve been in battle many times. I’ve seen a lot of carnage.” He had to stop and take a deep and most audible breath. “But it’s different in a battle. You have expectations of things you won’t ever forget. It’s destruction by your enemy and for some reason, it’s acceptable. I’m not sure about Makan Almawt.” Again, words escaped his grasp. 

Jed stared out the window at the bleakness of the desert. It held no fascination for him and he wondered why. Being out in nature, whatever the nature, was a pleasure he savored. This image of endless sand, dryness that supported minimal vegetation, the poverty of the areas they rode through; these sights made the desperateness of his visit even more terrifying. Living in this atmosphere had to be hard enough. These people, friends or enemies, didn’t deserve to be imprisoned with whips, chains, attack dogs, nakedness, humiliation and daily deaths. Steadily he grew more anxious about seeing Makan Almawt in actuality. 

Unlike his usual fluidity with language, he stammered, “You know, Fitz, I know I have to but I have never dreaded anything in my life more than this. These are American soldiers.” 

The rest of the ride remained quiet. Both men, both who had known their share of violence, knew their lives were not going to be the same ever again. For the Admiral, it was part of his job as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Chairman of all the Military. President Bartlet was a different story. He didn’t need to be there. Just order it closed and appoint someone to lead the investigation. By going to the prison himself, he was making a statement to the world. He prayed it would be understood. Americans do not torture nor do we accept torture for any reason. 

Sand is sand and just looks like sand. Same things go for prisons. The building they approached looked like it could be in the middle of the Mojave Desert in southwest California. The flag flew over the entry. The President said, perhaps a bit too loudly, “This is the first time I’m ashamed to see the American flag.” 

The driver was visibly shaken by the comment. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m proud to be an American.” 

Jed smiled and said, “As am I, Private. That’s why this prison shames me.” 

“These aren’t prisoners, sir. They’re persons of interest. They're terrorists.” 

“Therefore the Geneva Convention doesn’t apply, right?” 

It seemed too evident. “That's right, sir. We have to get information from these prisoners.” 

Jed looked to Fitz. His next remark to this boy in a soldier’s uniform wasn’t going to be civilized. 

Fitz intervened, “Son, you better stop while you’re ahead. You will not question anything President Bartlet has to say about the matter. Do you understand me?” 

The Private screamed out, “Oh, fuck!” but only in his head. Regardless, the President and Admiral Fitzwallace both heard it. “I beg your pardon, President Bartlet. I apologize. I didn’t recognize you, sir.” 

“I would have guessed that but I value your input.” The boy didn’t know why but it gave Jed an opportunity to see the depth to which torture was a fact of life, as normal as waking up in the morning. 

The passengers and the driver exited as the car was searched as all vehicles were when entering the grounds of Makan Almawt. The Private who drove made his way to others nearby and the identity of the President was no longer secret. That sort of got out when he accepted Fitz’s arm to help get out of the uncomfortable ride. The cane proved to those who weren’t sure that the kid was telling the truth. 

They all got back in the car and were driven the 200 yards to the camp offices. By the time they got there, a matter of barely two minutes, the camp Commander, a Major General in the Army, was on her way out the door to greet two men who had the power to make her upcoming days unfortunate. 

She presented herself wearing Army fatigues boasting her rank on her hat. Standing at attention, her salute was precise and Fitz took his time returning it. A small gesture of contempt for the woman in charge. It was noted by the President and Major General Catherine Dominowski. The salute was delivered with an almost invisible smirk on Fitz’s face. 

The Admiral further diminished Dominowski’s position. His informal manner of addressing her was an additional take-down. “At ease, General” She took the proper position stance. “I’ll assume you already know that the gentleman with me is the only human being in the world from whom I take orders.” 

“Yes, Admiral Fitzwallace.” 

Jed took the lead. “I would like to say it’s nice to meet you but, under these circumstances, I can’t.” 

“What circumstances, Mr. President?” 

A second Army vehicle pulled up behind the first. Two men emerged. “We’ll take care of introducing these officers first. You’re going to be spending a lot of time with them. They’re from the Navy’s JAG office, Lieutenant Commanders Calvin Malvois and Jacob Sher. Now, let’s go into your office and you’ll learn the reasons why we’re here.” 

Jed would have preferred firing her ass immediately but he couldn’t do that. “I have a feeling, Fitz, that General Dominowski knows why we’re here or at least why you’re here.” The President walked up to her face. “And I’m not just along for the ride.” Her complexion blanched. Jed continued, “Now, we’re going to go into your office to start doing what we came here to do.” 

“Yes, Mr. President.” 

“Damn straight.”


	6. We'll Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bartlet and Fitzwallace get their first look at Makan Almawt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for the Arabic phrases are listed in the end notes.  
> Any errors on my part regarding the Arabic language is due to my ignorance of the language.

**We’ll Survive**

General Dominowski sat at her desk. Across from the desk sat her downfall. The Admiral, having experienced the proverbial wrath of Bartlet, wasn’t surprised at the explosion about to happen. The General, on the other hand, didn’t think so much of the non-military Commander in Chief. She didn’t know what to expect but she found out. 

“You’re a Major General. That tells me you’re a career Army officer, right?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You’re graduated from UNLV in their ROTC program, right?” 

She wanted to smart mouth and say, yeah so? But she was smart enough to say as little as possible. “Yes, sir.” 

“UNLV has about the finest ROTC program in the western United States. Did you ever have a class where the Geneva Convention was discussed?” He knew the answer. Her lips started to move. His hand stopped her. “Don’t even bother.” Turning to his Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, he asked, “You got those photos with you?” 

Calvin Malvois stepped up and offered the President the packet of photos. “There are 25 here, Mr. President. The entire photo array is in a file box that hasn’t arrived yet, sir.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander.” He stumbled as per usual, “Tell me your name again?” 

“Calvin Malvois, Mr. President.” 

“You’ve gotten the assignment of researching all the files in this camp, am I right?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Admiral Fitzwallace looked at the General. “That means, regardless of his lower rank, you will give him every document he requests and without changing anything. That is a direct order from me.” 

Trying to hold in his contempt, the President added, “Remember what he said about me being the only person who can give him orders?” He didn’t wait for a response. “His order is backed by mine. I want to know what is going on here and why you accept it.” 

He opened the file of pictures and tossed the first one onto the desk in front of General Dominowski. “Look at that.” She didn’t move. His voice rose in volume. “I told you to look at that photo!” 

The General hadn’t said more than a dozen words since her tormenters arrived and she was wise enough to know better than to try. Her mouth closed shut even tighter when she took the picture in her hands and saw a naked man masturbating, a black hood over his head. American soldiers laughed and pointed to his genitals in front of his two little girls. She excused the evidence. “This man had information regarding a possible attack on the Qumari Prince.” 

Known for pounding his fist into tables, the President completely forgot he already broke that finger. The sound muffled because of the padding on his splint but the action was pure fury. He grimaced and held the broken hand. “Damn it!” 

JAG officer Sher asked the Admiral, “Sir, should I get Admiral Hackett?” 

The President told him. “I’m fine. We have to take a little walking tour of this place before a doctor gets his hands on me.” He stood up and all the others followed. “Oh, sit your asses down.” Leaning over the table, he stared in Major General Dominowski’s eyes. “So he had information about a possible assassination of a Qumari prince. Tell me what did the girls do? They’re what? Four five, six years old? Look like vicious killers to me. No wonder they’re stripped naked!” 

Fitzwallace thought he’d seen Jed get angry before but this was totally new territory. General Dominowski tried to appease his rage. “We followed orders, Mr. President. We were told to do whatever necessary to get the information we needed.” 

With a barely controlled quiet, Jed demanded, “I want to see this man. I want to meet these girls but I want them clothed. I will not further shame them. You get whoever you need to get to prepare for them to meet with me. I also want all of these so-called terrorists to be clothed in attire appropriate for their faith.” 

Admiral Fitzwallace stood up and commanded, “Now, take us on a tour of this hellhole. I don’t want to give you time to nicen things up.” 

The Admiral and Dominowski followed the President out the door with Lieutenant Commander Sher bringing up the end. He gave his order like he was President of the United States. “Take us to the rooms where this torture is taking place.” 

“Mr. President, we don’t torture prisoners. We follow all the protocol that we’ve been given. Some of it may seem unusual but these are not prisoners of war. We don’t have to adhere to the Geneva Convention.” 

They stopped at the end a hallway. From beyond closed doors, they heard screaming. Hearing the cries, President Bartlet reacted like any decent adult would when screams were heard. Running wasn’t his thing any longer. Canes definitely slow a person down but he took off fast enough to make catching up a trick. The door leading to the screams flew open and a crazed angry man barged in. 

A man, wrists chained to a pipe above, stood with his toes barely touching the floor. Two enlisted men watched a third take a pipe to the man’s genitals. Without a thought, President Bartlet dropped his cane and tackled the aggressor. The enlisted man fell to his knees as his compatriots attacked the President obviously unaware of who they were hitting. 

Admiral Fitzwallace grabbed both attackers and threw them easily to the floor. “I order you to stop! I’m Admiral Fitzwallace!" General Dominowski went to her men and signaled they needed to stop. 

The man covered by the President pushed the old man off his body and was about to deliver a considerable right cross when Lieutenant Commander Sher stopped the punch from landing. “Stupid move, Private.” He pulled the Private to his feet and pushed him toward Dominowski and other two enlistees. 

Admiral Fitzwallace got down on his knees to see to his Commander. “Sir, don’t move. Let’s get you checked out first.” 

He wasn’t ready to stand yet. He needed a minute to control his body physically and intellectually “First, get that man down from there. Get him some clothes and he sees Admiral Hackett before I do. I’m fine anyhow.” Starting to move, he told Fitz, “Help me up.” 

No one bothered to explain anything to the enlisted men whom they interrupted. Once recognizing the Admiral, they all stood at attention with salutes that Fitz wasn’t going to respond to, yet. 

The President got to his feet and had to admit, if only to himself, that his action was possibly not the wisest move. He noticed the men still saluting. “Take care of that salute thing before they make me angrier.” 

Fitz saluted and gave his orders. “You will take that man down, remove the chains and get him to the infirmary. He’s to be given a set of clothing. If the doctor isn’t a man, then we have a male doctor who will attend to him. After that is done, report to the General’s office and wait.” 

Attention had to be paid to President Bartlet. The beginning of a quiver in his leg had him saying a short prayer that it was going to pass quickly because then he could pay attention to the pain in his hand. 

The men looked at their General who tried to act like a commanding officer. “You heard Admiral Fitzwallace,” now they knew who one of these two guys were. “Get him down and taken care of but before you do, I recommend apologizing to President Bartlet.” 

Eyes grew in size as they just realized the depth of the shit they were in. The President told them, “I don’t need an apology.” Pointing to the prisoner. “If you feel the need to apologize, I suggest you do so to the person here who deserves it. Get him down from there.” 

The men looked to their General who nodded to their disbelief. “You heard the President. Take care of that man.” 

As he was being released from his hell, Fitz asked, “What’s this man’s name and does he speak English?” 

Dominowski didn’t know the name and prayed one of the enlisted men did. 

Private Raymond Drake, thank God, did have his name. It was written on something attached to a clipboard. “His name is Fakih Ganim, sir.” He scanned down the page, “And he speaks some English.” 

The pain of being released had the prisoner sounding out his pain. The President went to his side. He stood before the man. Brought his hands palm together in front of him and said words he’d learned when negotiating with Arabic countries. “Alsalam ealaykum. Aismi Josiah Bartlet.” 

Of course, even a prisoner in Qumar recognized the name but it was impossible that this man really was who he said he was. “’ant tukadhib eali.” 

The President smiled at the accusation. “I’m not lying to you. I am Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States.” 

He spoke again in Arabic. The President shook his head. “I’m afraid I am not fluent in Arabic. I hope your English is good.” 

He pitched his head to the right a little to acknowledge the truth. “My name Fakih Ganim.” 

The President took off his jacket. “‘ana ‘aelam. Do your arms hurt?” He held the coat out and waited for Ganim to understand the offer. 

The injured man turned his back, held out his arms and said, “Nem.” 

It was a basic word; a word one learned in the first class in Arabic. Yes was an acceptance of the offer and he helped Ganim put the jacket on over his cold shoulders. 

Fitzwallace commanded, “Get this man some pants. Help him dress and then to the infirmary.” Looking at Sher, he said, “As for those three, get their names and assignments.” The men were frightened. “Not happy about that? Don’t blame you. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll cooperate without any hesitation.” 

“I want to see more.” 

Fitz wondered, “Do you want to see where the women and children are being held?” 

Yeah, but he couldn’t. “They need to be clothed before I meet any of the women. I won’t add to this humiliation.” 

Lieutenant Commander Sher told his President, “Sir, the other plane had boxes of basic clothing for the prisoners. We have clothing for the women available. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get it here.” 

“It won’t take a day. Make it completed in eight hours.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted both commanders and left the room. 

President Bartlet walked over to the General trying not to convey the pain in his leg and hand. “This was an auspicious beginning, General Dominowski. What’s behind the next door? I have a feeling that what I saw happening to Mr. Ganim is just the beginning.” 

As they started out of the room, Ganim weakly addressed President Bartlet, “Aintazar ya sydy.” Jed stopped and looked at Ganim. The prisoner added, “Shukraan jazilaan.” 

“Ealaa alranab walset wa’ana asif.” Fitz wanted to know what was said. “He asked me to wait and then said thank you.” 

“What did you say to him?” 

They continued out into the hallway. “All I said was you’re welcome and I’m sorry.” 

Three other instances of torture were found. All immediately stopped. 

The cells looked more like cages for diseased animals left to die. The stench was overwhelming and the ages of these men were from barely ten to older than the President, probably older. Food was demanded. Cleaning of the cells was ordered. Knowing that clothes were on the second plane, the prisoners were ensured they would be clothed by the morning. Some of the people recognized Bartlet. Many didn’t. All they could understand was that the soldier not wearing a uniform was the man trying to make things better. Too many began to cry when they recognized that the horror would be better soon.

Their last stop was to witness what appeared to be an attempt to cover up the torture going on. The word about who was around got through to the entire camp and while they tried to pretty things up, it hadn’t worked. The abysmal site demanded a lot more than simple sweeping up.

***** 

At the end of the day, Fitzwallace and President Bartlet got back on the plane that brought them to Qumar. 

During the tour, Jed relied on his anger to get through the visions now seen in three dimensions. Photos were one thing but reality insisted he turn off a plethora of hurtful emotions. Feelings burbled below the surface under his rage. Those sensations lay within a micron of his staying in command. He fell down into one of the comfortable seats. His leg still hurt and his hand throbbed. Concentrate on the pain. It was easier than what he’d seen. In truth he welcomed pain. It was a minimal penance for being the ultimate commander of Makan Almawt. 

Admiral Fitzwallace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was also Jed’s friend. “I’m going to go out on a limb here. You need the doctor, don’t you.” He walked to the seat next to Jed’s and sat. “I know you, sir.” 

It took a long time for Jed to be able to speak. “Makan Almawt belongs to me. What those people are going through is my fault. I need to confess. I’m not sure if I need a doctor or a priest.” The responsibility of his title was becoming significantly more inclusive. 

“Sir, no one has full knowledge of what each and every military installation is like. Not even me.” 

“This isn’t a typical installation.” He looked out the window, “At least, I hope it’s not typical.” He let his words sit for a bit. “Since I’m going to say it’s not typical, then all the more reason why we, why I should have known about this long before now. I want to know where the orders came from. Who dictated that we treat other human beings like this?" Temper flared with increasing volume. "We have laws in our country that protect farm animals better than we protect these people. I didn’t know.” Again, his anger exploded and his hand came down hard on the arm’s seat. “God damn it!” 

Fitz got to his feet. “I’m getting Hackett and you’re going to calm down.” 

He was on a roll of rage. “You Commander in Chief all of a sudden?” 

Soldiers who rise to become Chairman of the Joint Chiefs don’t get there by military knowledge alone. The Presidential comeback wasn’t personal and Fitz knew the man well enough to say, “I wouldn’t want your job any more than I want mine.” 

Jed laughed. “I’m sorry. Fitz. I have to believe what I saw but I don’t want to.” His eyes glazed over but he wasn’t going to let the Admiral see his weakness. “How long will it take to clean that place up?” 

“That all depends on what you mean by cleaning it up. We can open the doors now and go home but we have to clothe everyone, get them food, reunite families and I believe all that is our responsibility.” 

“Of course.” He tried to get out of reactionary mode and into dictatorial. It was his obligation to ensure the prisoners got as much of their lives back as possible. “It’s impossible, though.” 

“We’ll do our best, sir.” 

Compensation wasn’t going to do it. “It will never be enough. This will follow us for generations.” 

“Makan Almawt is a massive disaster but we’ll survive.” 

“Like Germany, we’ll survive.” 

Fitz did get the comment. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t you get it?” The glaze in his eyes turned into the tears he’d held back for hour upon hour. “Makan Almawt is our Auschwitz.” 

Quiet wasn’t any solace. It invited memories of what was witnessed to imprint more deeply in the conscious of both men. Fitz softly said, “I’ll get Dr. Hackett.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Google English to Arabic translator. Any errors on my part regarding the Arabic language is due to my ignorance of the language.
> 
> Alsalam ealaykum. Aismi Josiah Bartlet. = Peace be with you. My name is Josiah Bartlet.  
> ’ant tukadhib eali. = You're lying to me.  
> ‘ana ‘aelam = I know  
> nem = yes  
> Aintazar ya sydy. = Please wait, sir.  
> Shukraan jazilaan = Thank you very much.  
> Ealaa alranab walset wa’ana asif. = You're welcome and I'm sorry.


	7. How's It Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on while the President tries to sleep.

**How’s It Going?**

A eight hour time difference was hard enough in the best of times. It was evening in Kufa but, in the President’s head, it was in the middle of the night. Sleeping on an airplane never made time changes any easier for him. He was being attended to before preparing to sleep. “I’m a relatively bright man and I always have trouble with jetlag.” 

Admiral Hackett was preparing an injection of betaseron. “Considering the inconsistent hours of sleep you get in Washington, I would think time changes wouldn’t bother you.” The President tried to roll up his sleeve but the hand that was doing the rolling had a broken finger. Hackett told him, “I’ll get it.” 

The sleeve got rolled up and betaseron entered Jed’s system. He yawned and asked, “Is it the right time for me to be tired? There’s a lot to do tomorrow.” 

“Time doesn’t matter. If you’re tired, you’re tired.” Hackett started to pack up his things. “I’m not very happy about your sleeping on the plane. There are no beds here and sleeping in a recliner is not the best for sound sleep. I wish you took the offer of sleeping in the officers’ on-post housing. You’d at least get a bed.” 

Remembering what he had seen hours ago, he shook his head. “You’re worried about a backache when the situation here has eight men in a cell sleeping on mats. The mats are for the lucky ones.” 

It could take time for learn how to speak Bartlet as a language. He’d never admit to having a backache but he accused Hackett of worrying about one. Translated that meant his back hurt. “I can give you an injection for the back pain or you could take a T4.” 

“Give me the damn pill. I’ll take it later when I go to sleep. It will help with the jetlag.” Hackett put a small bottle of pills in the President’s hand. “Change of subject. Well, almost but not really.” 

The usually glib Commander in Chief was thinking too tangentially, a sure sign that his brain was on overload. “You’re talking in circles again.” 

He was often reproved for just that kind of thing and it always annoyed him. “Just answer my question.” At that point he realized he hadn’t asked it yet. Trying to cover, he quickly added, “Which was what time is it in Washington right now?” 

“You’re the mathematician. It’s eight hours from now.” 

The gentle teasing was refreshing considering what he experienced earlier in the day. “You know, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs can fire your ass. I know him personally.” 

“I do, too.” He got up to leave. “How long are you going to be here?” 

“Two or three more days.” 

“If it’s one more night then fine. If it’s more than that, I’m going to insist we get you a real bed to sleep in. I know you don’t like to be reminded but you have a health issues that demand you be well-rested. Betaseron and pain meds can only do so much.” 

He hated being scolded. “You sound like my wife.” 

“She’s a lot shorter.” Seeing the President roll his eyes had him adding, “I’m serious. I don’t like your sleeping in these seats.” 

“Go away. I’m tired of you.” 

“Did you eat today?” 

The answers were not good and Hackett decided the President’s habits needed a handler. “I’m going with you tomorrow.” 

“What the hell for?” Before he finished the question he knew the answer. “I promise you I’ll eat.” 

“And take a nap.” 

Yeah, that’s just what the President wanted to do. Hard to be a smart ass when it’s nap time. “You know why we’re here, right?” Of course, right. “When, during my discussions with torturers and their prisoners, when would be a good time to nap?” 

“Whenever you get the chance and I’m not kidding. Mr. President, you already have a broken bone in your hand. MS is aggravated by fatigue and stress. Back pain is aggravated by sleeping in a chair instead of a bed. If you want to see this problem here through to its conclusion, then you need to rest properly and eat regularly.” He pulled out his ultimate intimidation. “I can pronounce physically unfit to remain President. I really don’t want to do that.” 

“Threatening me, Dr.?” 

He should say no but the truth was, “Yeah, it’s a threat and I’m willing to follow through on it.” 

Sure, Bartlet was Commander in Chief but he had two admirals to contend with and both of them were pushy as hell. The President checked his watch. “So if I add eight hours that makes it six in the morning. Abbey should be up by now.” Glowering at Hackett, he told the doctor, “I’m calling my wife and you don’t need to be here for that.” Hackett left Jed alone and the call was made. 

***** 

Her alarm went off at 5:30. She liked early morning. It was the most peaceful part of the day for the First Lady. The only thing wrong on this bright morning was the fact that her husband wasn’t there. Since they moved into the White House, Abbey Bartlet hated waking up without him at her side. It frightened her especially after Roslyn and, thank God, the bullet that tore into his body followed the easiest path it could. Then again, an inch over and it would most likely have killed him. For several days, he needed to stay in the hospital and her empty bedroom was no longer a sanctuary. 

It wasn’t unusual for the phone to ring at any hour of the night but with Jed in Qumar the phone ringing at six in the morning was unsettling. She picked up the receiver and before she had the courage to say anything, she heard, “Abbey, are you there?” 

“Jed, what the hell time is it?” 

“I love you, too, Sweet Knees.” 

“I’m sorry. The phone ringing this early freaks me out.” She sat on the bed. “How's it going?” There was a long pause and she immediately knew he was in need of her. “That bad?” 

“Worse. I can’t . . . it’s the most horrible and degrading place I’ve ever seen.” He stopped talking and she gave him time to collect his words. “I wish you were here. I don’t mean that you should see this but I want you with me right now.” 

The truth behind those simple words told her his heart was broken and he needed to be held and rocked like a small child. He didn’t fall into that territory often but it was apparent to her that he had to have someone that he could show weakness to. Going to Qumar, he was the Leader of the Free World and the weight of that title gave him no freedom to react like a normal human being. Where the sights he’d seen would devastate anyone, Jed could not be seen as fragile and tired. Abbey understood the complexities of her husband in ways no one else ever did or would. “I should have gone with you.” 

“No. I’m okay. It’s the jetlag.” 

That made her laugh. Every overseas problem was eventually blamed on the jetlag that he would never gain control over. “You haven’t been to sleep yet, have you?” Jed had the ability to communicate more by not saying things than anyone she’s ever know. “Get some sleep. Have Hackett give you something to help.” 

“I got T4s.” 

“Just one of those, okay? You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, my back is hurting a little.” 

Saying one thing and meaning another was Jed’s pattern. “What did you do to make it hurt? Playing tackle football again?” 

He wasn’t going to let her know how he did tackle someone and it had been a more stupid move as the day went on. “Yeah, that’s my sport. I got the size and speed for it, don’t you think?” 

“Sure, if you’re playing on a middle school team.” 

Her playfulness was what he needed. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?” 

That was his way of thanking her for sticking by him. “Every day, my love.” She was thousands of miles away from him. The only embrace she was capable of giving him was in her words. “God gave me you and I am forever grateful that He did.” There was no response. “You need to sleep. It’s going to be rough for you there. Call me at any time. I don’t care what the time is.” She heard him holding back what he would call Han. It was a Korean word he learned from a brilliant North Korean pianist who wanted to defect. Han was a profound sadness that still had a thread of hope. “Sleep, honey. Go to sleep.” 

“Not yet. I need you to do something for me.” Earlier in the day, the clothing he’d brought over was getting distributed but there was a problem. “There are children here and I hear the youngest are infants. My understanding is that there are about 50 kids here. I need clothing for them. Fitz is going to have his acquisition people try to put things together and get things here as fast as possible. I’d like you to be part of that. You know what to get and I’m not sure Commander Willison has that knowledge.” 

Now she understood his despair. Children were involved and he found his greatest joy in being a father. She smiled while remembering his allowing the girls to paint his toenails and put rollers in his hair. His life was his children. Knowing these innocents in the prison had so little was going to be his proverbial straw. “I’ll take care of it. They’ll need more than clothing. We’ll get formula and diapers. I’ll make sure that what we get is appropriate for Muslim children.” 

Another piece of silence told her he was holding in tears. “Thanks, Babe. I knew you could help here.” 

“It’s done. I’ll make sure the first load of things are on their way by the end of the day.” 

More silence and he broke it by admitting, “I’m tired. I need to sleep.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

***** 

Makan Almawt was manned 24/7 and the night crew was having a meal break. Four men assigned to interrogate the inmates at the prison sat together and were mad as hell. All were privates and believed they were doing their patriotic duty by harassing people who might be innocent. 

Warren Mitchell had the most anger. “What the hell do they think we’re doing here? These Muslims are trash. If we didn’t want to refuel here, I’d say let them kill each other.” 

His partner, Greg Scheider, had a more tolerant viewpoint. “Sometimes I think we’re going too far. I mean none of the people here have had any sort of trial. I mean they haven’t even been accused of anything.” 

A third Private said little but it said volumes. “Who gives a shit?” 

“Come on, Darryl,” It was Hank Lavin who called his buddy on the comment. “Are not you embarrassed by all these naked people?” 

Darryl Franklin came back with, “You a wuss or something?” 

“Fuck you. I didn’t vote for that asshole anyhow. I just think sometimes we might be going too far with these people.” 

Mitchell kept it going. “You call this slug slime people?” He stuffed a hamburger in his mouth. “That’s giving them too much credit and I didn’t vote for Bartlet either. He never served in the military and we’re supposed to think he’s good enough to be the Commander in Chief.” 

Finishing off a coke, Scheider had to admit, “But Fitzwallace, he’s career. He’s got cred.” 

“You talk like you’re 60 years old. Cred?” Darryl grabbed a bottle of root beer. “Give me that.” 

Lavin took it back. “Get your own.” He kept talking. “They started giving them back their clothes. Even brought in new clothes for them. Brought shit over from the states.” 

Private Mitchell had the most distaste of them all. “Bartlet is a bleeding heart liberal. He thinks because he’s smart he didn’t have to serve. He should have been in Viet Nam. Maybe he’d of learned what it means to be a soldier.” 

Lavin complained, “Viet Nam was a cess pool. No one didn’t need to be there. Someone with a brain like his did better staying in school.” 

“So he could grow up to be President? Big fucking deal. He’s a pussy.” 

“Warren, the prick is here. Be careful what you say. Somebody could hear you and then your ass is his.” 

Private Mitchell finished his hamburger and kept up his rant. “You think he actually has a prick? He’s a prickless wonder. Wonder if he has any balls at all.” Mitchell picked up his tray and left. 

Scheider watch his friend leave. “He’s got a lot of hate in him. Gonna get him in trouble someday.” 

Hank agreed. “Mitchell’s a hypo-prick. He’s a doorknob.” 

Greg picked up his tray as well. “He’s white-girl wasted. He’s got a thing for Zoey Bartlet.” 

Franklin and Lavin started laughing. Darryl warned, “He’s got to be nice to Homer if he wants to fuck Lisa. He’s probably a son-of-a-bitch for a father.” 

***** 

The East Wing had its own kind of madness. Abbey canceled her appointments and began working on getting Jed the things he wanted. Her husband was right. Commander Willison wasn’t familiar with what a parent needs to care for very young children. After a few phone calls, diapers, onesies, infant clothing, baby blankets, swaddles, wipes, diaper cream, bibs, burp cloths, formula, bottles, binkies, baby carriers, soft stuffed animals and toys all were on their way to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. 

Air Force One could easily carry the baby things along with clothing for toddlers and up to pre-teens. Abbey took Lily Mays along with several extra secret service agents and cleaned out the local Macy’s children’s department. She cleaned them out of nightgowns that could be worn as a dress and long skirts. She stopped on the first floor to purchase plain, large scarves that the women could fashion into head coverings. Then again, the women’s department had nightgowns that might come in handy. Promised a mention by the President, they were happy to close down for an hour and allow their inventory to be decimated. 

By the time all was on its way to Andrews, she decided to accompany it. Her clothes were packed along with some additional things for Jed and she was going to Qumar. Just as Jed hadn’t told her he was going there, she opted not to tell him. 

Lily was a bit concerned. “Ma’am, do you think this is the best move? Mr. President is not going to be happy.” 

“I think he’ll okay with it. I know I’ll be happier that he’s able to sleep on Air Force One instead of the recliners on the Gulfstream. Knowing Jed as well as she did, she called Admiral Hackett who expressed his displeasure in the sleeping accommodations. Angel, outfitted with a master suite, provided a better situation along with the privacy she knew he liked. Being on display while sleeping didn’t appeal to either of them. 

It had been a long day for her but she felt good about it. Jed was closing a horrid atrocity and she was able to help. Her skills as a physician and her conversation with Admiral Hackett had an additional supply of medical items, soaps and towels for kids and their moms. Commander Willison already had acquisition put cans of food on board. Checking her watch, she figured out they’d arrive about 8 AM in Qumar time. Jed would be awake by then. Won’t he be surprised! 

She ran up the air-stairs and into the master suite. She dropped her purse and coat on the bed, sat by the window and took out her phone. The 747's big engines started to roar. “Hello, Jed. How’s it going today?”


	8. Because I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Arabic phrases were obtained through Google's English/Arabic translator. Any errors in Arabic are due to the author's unfamiliarity with that language.

**Because I Can**

Lieutenant Commander Malvois knew the Department of Defense Law of War Manual inside out. That’s why he was selected for this mission. It frustrated him. Even so, he had the manual next to his laptop. The two Ensigns assisting him were recording the names of the prisoners and the treatment received. They didn’t speak to each other but they were both stunned by what was committed to a legal file for each person at Makan Almawt. 

Malvois looked at the General who sat at her desk supposedly working. “This is the standard manual for maintaining prisoners of war.” 

“That’s what we use.” 

“There’s nothing in this document allowing for the treatment handed out here. You’re not abiding by the law.” 

Dominowski retaliated, “We don’t have lawful combatants here. We warehouse unprivileged belligerents.” 

“Ma’am, how do you justify ‘warehousing’ children? You have children here. They can’t possibly be unprivileged belligerents. Even if they were, they’re children.” 

She stood up to cower over him. “My orders are to give you the documents you’ve asked for. I will follow that order but I still outrank you. Please hold your opinions to yourself, Lieutenant.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a Lieutenant Commander though. Please address me by my rightful rank.” 

She wasn’t going to gain anything by stepping on the toes of a lower officer. “I ask the same of you. I am a Major General. Admiral Fitzwallace can use the short version but you cannot.” 

Malvois rose from his chair, snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, Major General.” 

The action was appropriate but completed with all the sarcasm Malvois could muster. It wasn’t wasted on Dominowski. Like Fitzwallace did to her, she didn’t return the salute until she got back to her desk and sat. 

After having his salute returned, he sat back down and began to type on his laptop. _Protocols established by the Department of Defense’s Law of War Manual provide the following instruction regarding unprivileged belligerent combatants as follows. LIEBER CODE art. 56 “A prisoner of war is subject to no punishment for being a public enemy, nor is any revenge wreaked upon him by the intentional infliction of any suffering, or disgrace, by cruel imprisonment, want of food, by mutilation, death, or any other barbarity.” The treatment documented in the files of the following detainees violates the regulation above._

The work of the two Ensigns would provide the names that needed to be placed at that point. “Ensign Olewe.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

About how many files have you read so far today?” 

“Sir, I estimate about 35 or 40 so far.” 

“How many indicate maltreatment?” 

“Sir, I would estimate at least 75 to 80 per cent.” 

“Parkman, are your numbers similar?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That’s makes it about 65 out of 80. I’ll be needing all the names and the reason they’re being held here.” 

They both answered, “Yes, sir.” 

Quiet returned to the room and Dominowski heard her career disintegrating. 

***** 

Jed and Fitz had been talking to some of the women held at Makan Almawt. On the table at the side of the room was a true groaning board. All the foods were within the tenets of allowed foods for practitioners of the Muslim faith. Breads, soups in tureens, sweets, chicken and all prepared by people who knew the proper method to cook it all. 

Fitz dished out a cup of the lentil soup. “This is really good. Try some.” 

Jed shook his head. “Not hungry.” 

“Hackett warned me about getting you to eat and rest.” 

“We’ll stop soon. I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m really tired. I just have to know that these people are getting cared for.” 

“Air Force One will be here by noon. The baby and kid things are on the plane. Everybody will be dressed by dinner tonight. We brought along a group of military volunteers to help out.” 

“Military volunteers? Don’t they just have to follow orders?” 

He dipped a spoon into the soup. “These are men and women who got word of what’s going on here. They wanted to come and help.” 

Jed grinned. “That’s the kind of military I want to command. I have to remember that Makan Almawt isn’t typical. Those volunteers are my military. I’ll need to thank them.” 

Fitz checked the name on the paper in front of him. “Hell, this next person is a girl, 12 years old. Lakia Halabi.” He didn’t have a clue how to pronounce her name correctly. “I know I’m screwing the names up. I don’t speak any Arabic.” 

“My Arabic is very basic. 101 level.” Then he remembered what he was just told. “Wait. Did you say Air Force One is bringing the kids clothing?” 

It was a slip that he hoped the President didn’t catch. Hope is fleeting, however. “Yeah, we thought it would be better not to tie up a military plane.” A little lie but a necessary one. 

He wasn’t stupid, though. “How did she get you to agree that she come here?” Fitz shrugged. “Damn it. She gets what she wants. I’m the President and she gets around my wishes all the time.” 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but wives always win regardless of your position. I’m the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and Gail rules out house. I don’t have a prayer.” 

“There’s little doubt that you and I are the two most powerful people in the United States and we still have to answer to our wives.” The comment was made with tenderness and Fitz nodded. “On the other hand, having Abbey and Gail at home makes almost everything right.” 

He took another spoon of the soup. “I won’t tell them if you don’t.” 

A young girl was escorted into the room. She looked scared to death. The President stood up and went to her. “Sabah alkhyr ya tiflay.” Fitz asked and the President said, “I hope I said ‘good morning, my child.’” The girl seemed to relax a little. “Looks like I may have said it okay.” He didn’t touch the girl but he gestured as he said, “Min fadlik ‘ajlis.” She still hadn’t spoken but she sat where the President pointed. “Iidhakunt jayleen, min fadlik khudh bed altaeam.” Looking at Fitz, he translated, “I told her if she’s hungry, she should eat.” 

She shook her head. A very small voice told him, “La, shukraan.” 

“Asmuk Lakia.” Jed told her he knew her name was Lakia. 

When she nodded she whispered, “Nem.” 

The child was shaking. “La takhafuu. I told her not to be afraid.” 

“She probably doesn’t believe you.” 

“Would you?” Looking at the quaking little girl, he admitted, “I’d love to give her a hug but culturally that’s a very big no no. Someone has to hold this kid.” 

Fitz suggested, “Ask her where her mother is.” 

“ayn hi ‘amnaan?” 

“la ‘adri, la ‘aerif.” 

“She doesn’t know.” He asked about her father and the answer was the same. Her tiny hand grabbed a piece of naan and she stuffed it in her mouth. With a kindly smile, he encouraged her, “Min fadlik saeid nafsak binafsik.” The child finally took the offer of food. Lakia’s fast jab in the air pointed to the lentil soup. “Fitz, get her some soup. Get one for me as well. If she sees me eating it, she won’t be so frightened.” 

The Admiral doled out the soup and watched as the President started eating and smiled when Lakia joined him. She wore her own tentative smile. Success. The child was willing to trust still and that would be a necessity for her future. 

Lieutenant Commander Malvois knocked on the door. He handed a slip of paper to the Admiral. After reading it, he asked to be excused. He and Malvois left the President, the translator and Lakia alone. Once out in the hall, Fitzwallace adamantly asked, “Are you sure of this?” 

“Yes, sir. I contacted Dr. McNally’s office and they found the source documents. It’s been verified.” 

“President Bartlet is going to blow a gasket and I don’t blame him. I always thought the guy was a son-of-a-bitch. This just proves it.” He thought for a moment and told Malvois. “Keep this between us for the moment and get McNally on the phone for me.” 

***** 

Warren Mitchell and Hank Lavin were notified that Fitzwallace and Bartlet were requesting their presence at a meeting regarding treatment at Makan Almawt. They snuck off to grab a cigarette. Mitchell’s anger had a few hours to get deep seated in his psyche. 

“They’re going to hang this on us. We’re going to get dishonorably discharged.” 

“They’re talking to a lot of us.” 

“You can’t be that stupid.” 

His buddy Hank didn’t want to think that they would be blamed. “We was following orders. They told us to get information in any way we could. We even got direct orders to get physical with them.” 

Darryl took a drag. “Yeah, you think the asshole who gave that order will get shit? We’ll be the ones paying.” 

It wasn’t their easiest conversation. “Yeah, but I mean, the women and kids.” 

“Just as many women drive car bombs as men do. They’ll kill their kids along with them.” 

Hank was starting to hear the sense in Darryl’s words. “Could never understand that. They kill their babies.” 

“We got to keep Qumar. These insurgents got to go. It’s our duty and Dominowski knows it. They’re going to crucify her, too.” 

“I can figure Fitzwallace being here. Bartlet's just a prick but Fitzwallace knows better.” Hank dropped his cigarette and ground it out. “It’s not fair.” 

“You realizing that just now?” 

Darryl Franklin walked up to them – equally pissed. “I got to report to Bartlet and Fitzwallace later on.” 

Hank Lavin’s anger seemed to escalate more than his friends’. “Fuck it. They’re going to get all of us. I knew this was going to happen. We got to get out of this or we’re going to get shot for treason.” 

Warren Mitchell didn’t know how but he had a solution. “We got to show these prisoners are dangerous.” 

Darryl heard his friend. “Yeah, we got to show them that.” 

Hank asked the million dollar question. “And you got to figure out how and when. We don’t got the time.” 

Darryl looked at Warren and Hank. “We might. We just might.” 

***** 

They had spoken to half a dozen people so far. Jed sighed. “I don’t know how many more of these I can do today. Each story is worse than the one before it.” 

Fitz saw that his friend was growing too tired. “I’m supposed to look out for you. Hackett made me promise.” 

“You’re his Commander.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Your eyes are barely open and you’re still not eating.” 

There was no sense in arguing. Jed felt the fatigue settling in. His legs were heavy and there was blurring in his right eye. That right side again. It always seemed to be the right side. “Has my wife arrived?” 

“Yes, sir.” He knew that as a fact because Abbey was at the door behind the President. 

He had heard the door open. “Let’s break this for today. I don’t want her to think she should be her at the prison and I know her. She’ll want to come see for herself. She can be a pain in the ass.” 

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Really? That’s how you talk about me?” 

With a smile, he looked up at her. “I knew you were there.” 

“Sure, you did.” She moved to give him a kiss. “And to borrow a phrase from our youngest, you look like death on a Triscuit.” 

He tried to stand up and had to do some heavy duty leaning on the table to get to his feet. “I always wondered where she got that.” 

It wasn’t hard to see when he wasn’t feeling well. His bad eye would look swollen because he’d been rubbing it too much. Then the constant leaning on the table proved the back and legs were hurting. “You’re done for the day, pumpkin.” 

Fitz tried to hide his laugh but he couldn’t. “Now, that’s the first time I ever heard someone call you pumpkin.” 

“If you know what’s good for you, you will keep our little secret.” 

“Admiral, do you know why I call him pumpkin.” 

“Don’t you dare, Abbey. I swear to God.” 

The Admiral held his hands up. “I think for both of our safety, I’ll pass on learning your reasoning.” 

Jed reached over for his cane. It was leaning against the wall. He tried taking a step toward it but while he thought his leg moved, it in fact hadn’t. The leg gave way and he splattered over the floor, legs and arms akimbo. “Damn!” 

Abbey and Fitz got him into a more comfortable position. “Did you hurt yourself?” 

Fitz was getting him something to drink. “I’m fine. I lost my balance. It’s not like this is something new.” 

Abbey did a quick exam to be sure he wasn’t lying. “You’re done for the day, my love. We’re going back to Angel now.” 

“When I heard Air Force One was on its way, I knew you were on it.” 

“Am I that predictable?” 

He searched into his past conversations and recalled they had one quite similar. “Yes, and as you once told me, you always were.” 

Fitz, who always had a sense of decorum, felt it was time for his President to be off the floor. “Abbey, is it safe to get him into a chair?” 

Jed was annoyed. “You think you could ask me that question?” 

“No, because you’re not a doctor and you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Trying to quell further annoyance, Abbey took charge. “I’ll ask you. Anything hurt?” 

“Other than my pride, no. I can sit in a chair.” 

With strength everyone in the room knew he had, Fitz lifted Jed up and the President was again sitting at the table. 

Major General Dominowski entered the room. She snapped to attention. “Admiral Fitzwallace, I heard that the President fell. Can we do anything to help?” 

“At ease, General. Things are under control. Thank you.” 

“And as I said to these people, You can ask me those questions, General.” 

“Begging your pardon, Mr. President.” 

“You have people other than me to apologize to. Admiral Fitzwallace will continue questioning prisoners and we’ll delay questioning your troops until tomorrow. I’m done for the day. The horror I’ve witnessed so far has me infuriated. This, by the way, is the First Lady. She brought a lot of clothing and important items for the women and children incarcerated here. Everything that is essential for the people in this hell hole will be distributed appropriately before you get to leave here tonight. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mr. President.” 

“You’re a woman of few words.” 

“Begging the President’s pardon, sir, but you only ask questions demanding brief answers. I haven’t been given the opportunity to defend our protocols.” Trying to figure out why she said that to the Leader of the Free World was beyond her ken but it was out and she couldn’t retract it. 

Admiral Fitzwallace intervened. “How much thin ice do you want to tread on?” 

Rather than tell him the true thoughts going through her mind, Dominowski remained quiet. The President drilled into her eyes with his. “Good answer, General. Fitz, tell her she can leave.” 

He waved the General off with his answer to her salute. 

Abbey took a deep cleansing breath. “Jed, why are you talking to Generals like that?” 

“Short answers are vogue. Because I can.”

Fitz, call Air Force One and get Jed's wheelchair over here." 

Don't be stubborn. You just fell and I know you have pain." 

The Admiral opened his cell phone to talk to the steward on Angel. "You should listen to Abbey. We don't need you sprawled out on the floor again." 

He hadn't calmed down despite his trying very hard to. "I'm walking out of here." 

The First Lady, in her most scolding voice asked, "Why?" 

Being President brought as much privilege as it did paucity. Demands had become his habit as of late. "Short answers are vogue." Rising on his own stole energy but he had that short answer. "Because I can."


	9. A Series of Affronts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debacle of Makan Almawt deepens the President's resolve to make things right.

**A Series of Affronts**

His pace was slow, labored and painful, a circumstance noted by the two people accompanying him. In his head, the wrath of Bartlet beat on him also. He was used to his brain thinking too fast and handling too many ideas at the same time. This time, it hurt. Grousing about being sent home was what he’d do and say but he was grateful to get out of Makan Almawt. That it looked like they dragged him out set well in his eyes. 

Climbing the air-stairs into AF1 was difficult and each step up stuck a knife in his back. Living in emotions made muscles tighten and when that happened, his back paid for it. So did his mind. Training from an abusive father made emotions unacceptable for a Bartlet male. Strong reactions were not permitted unless that reaction was anger. Tears completely not tolerated for Bartlet men and even Bartlet boys. 

The desolate prison he had to close turned his emotions into a furious hurricane. Days of unending stress coupled with poor sleep and eating habits gave his body to the pain of his hate-filled father as well as the adult demon chasing him, his multiple sclerosis. 

He’d held himself together with chewing gum before and he planned on doing it again. It would be easier now that Abbey did what he specifically asked her not to do. With the other half of his soul in attendance, he had someone that didn’t need to hear explanations why. Why also didn’t matter. She’d be with him and that was all he needed to know. 

Once inside, he murmured to her, “Let them serve dinner in the suite. I want to get out of these clothes. I’ve been wearing them for two days.” 

“And they look like you slept in them.” 

“Quite right, Sweet Knees.” He was about to plant a kiss that both would experience from lip to toes but there was a knock on the door. “Shit.” 

“Be a good boy, Josiah.” 

“Come in.” 

Admiral Fitzwallace opened the door and started with an apology. “I know I probably interrupted the beginning of something but, Mr. President, you and I need to talk. I have some news you need to hear.” 

“Right now?” 

“No, sir. It can wait but maybe after dinner we should talk.” 

Anxiety got notched up a bit with that kind of statement. “Tell me now.” 

Abbey asked, “Should I leave?” 

“Get some rest. After dinner will be fine.” Without waiting, the Admiral left the suite. 

“What the hell is wrong now? I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. There was this 12 year old girl we talked to today. Twelve years old. She was so hungry. How do you treat a child like that?” He didn’t sit on the bed. He dropped onto it like an old briefcase after a long day. “She didn’t know where her parents were. Fitz and I checked later and her parents weren’t even on the list of prisoners. We don’t know why they picked her up. She was bruised. At least she was clothed properly and she accepted food. How do you treat a child that badly?” 

Her husband was the recipient of terrible child abuse doled out by a weak and cowardly father. “You know what she’s going through.” 

“No way in hell do I know. I don’t have a clue. This kind of neglect is inhuman.” The glassiness in his eyes started to shed tears. “There are babies in there.” Without sound, he cried. His strength seemed to evaporate. 

She put her arms around him. Her own tears began but they were for him. “You need to rest, Babe. Let’s get you into the bed. We can dine while under the blankets.” 

He tried to lighten the atmosphere. “You getting in bed with me?” 

“As much fun as that would be, you’ll be more . . . let’s say energetic once you’re rested and fed.” 

There were times when he turned in a timid little child. “I told you not to come but I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I thought you’d be ready for a big fight on that one.” 

“I should be but I’m feeling very alone right now and I need you.” 

He had moments when he tormented her with his pride of the pack mentality and then he comes out and says he needs her. She needed him too but this time it was her turn to be the rock. “I’m going to get Hackett. I’d like him to run some saline for you. You look dehydrated.” 

“Can he stick some pain meds in there? My back is bad.” 

“Worse than usual? And if the answer is yes, what did you do?” She’d heard the story from Hackett but wanted him to fess up to tackling a 22 year old Private carrying a gun. He started to pull off his black tee-shirt and was having trouble. Making it easier was her job. She got it over his head. “Relax, I’ll get you some pajamas unless you want to shower first.” 

The idea of a warm shower gave him ease. “That sounds great. I need to ungrubby myself anyhow.” 

“You’re making up words again.” 

“All words were made up at some time.” Leaning on her, he got up and went into the bathroom to get some nice hot water running over his aching back. “Come get me in 15 minutes. I might just decide to drown in there.” 

The cynic shit had to stop. “You’re talking stupid and you know it.” 

“Not the first time nor the last.” 

“Cliches, old buddy.” 

“Shower time, old pal.” He managed a grin that almost looked real. The odd gait he shuffled out with told his wife volumes about his pain. Hackett, she had to find Admiral Hackett. Saline, hydrocodone and betaseron would make him feel better physically at least. Hoping for more meant pipe dreams. She’d give anything for a few of those right now. 

***** 

Sitting up in bed after a lovely breakfast for dinner, Jed and Abbey enjoyed one of their favorite movies, The Princess Bride. Each time Mandy Patinkin said, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father.” Jed finished with “Prepare to die.” It drove Abbey crazy but there was relief in his maintaining the habit regardless of his current emotional well-being. She leaned into him and teased in that silly squeaky voice she used to flirt shamelessy, “Am I your Buttercup? You’re my Westley.” 

“Because Westley is an easier name to live with than Josiah.” 

“I like your name. It’s regal.” 

“Especially when the kids on your ball team call you Josie.” 

No one ever called him Josie except the boys on his ball team when he was eight. Fifty-five years later, it hung on him like a bad suit that he had to wear to his Aunt Louise’s second wedding. “Do you think you can ever put that behind you?” 

It was the kind of argument he loved having because of its utter meaninglessness. “You were little Miss Popular. You and your kind tormented me and my kind.” 

“You were one of a kind, Mr. Brainiac.” 

“‘Cause good grades appeal to hot babes.” 

“Appealed to me.” 

“That says more about you than it does me.” 

Easy nonsensical conversations helped pass their times quite often. The pressures of his job worked hard at crushing both their spirits. Abbey had an understanding of the man few people even knew existed. The surface fascinated most of the populace and it was not a thin veneer of glossy drivel. 

The depth of his mind put scholars in trances as they attempted to deal with a brilliant genius whose primary skills were not the physical sciences. He was a social scientist with a proclivity for mathematics who relaxed by dreaming resolutions to Reiman’s Hypothesis. He never designed rockets or tried to prove the existence of gravitons. A genius who concentrated on the social sciences hadn’t existed since ever. And that’s what those viewing the surface saw. 

Abbey saw there was more inside his complex and investigative brain. There was a child trying to earn the love of a father who never would care about him. Never being enough for his father created permanently etched doubts in his psyche. The world told him his IQ was immeasurable. He called it a genetic mutation and nothing more. Once, early in their marriage, he told his wife he thought of his IQ as a disability; that he was a special needs child and those needs were ignored. 

This was the man who used his once in a universe mind for the public service of others. Where Steven Hawking could explain black holes, Josiah Bartlet could expound on about how a civil war in South America impacted real estate in Detroit. Then he’d talk about wanting to be an astronaut despite a fear of small places, fire, heights and speed. There was that little boy again. 

Her concentration was broken by another recitation with Inigo Montoya. “Prepare to die.” 

***** 

Abbey convinced Jed to meet with Fitz while staying in bed. She put the onus on Hackett and the IVs. The truth that remaining in bed and resting served him better, it only reminded him of his weaknesses. Leaving the men alone, Abbey took her book about Truman with her. 

Fitzwallace wore the countenance of a beleaguered man. "I received word of this when we were talking to that little girl, Lakia. I’ve spoken to Dr. McNally to verify the truth of this and was able to confirm the order.” 

“We know who orchestrated this mess?” 

“You’re not going to like it.” 

“I never do especially when you tell me I’m not going to like something." He chose his next words with purpose. Who’s the felon?” 

“Miles.” 

The only person he knew named Miles served on his Cabinet alongside Admiral Fitzgerald. “You can’t mean it.” 

Fitz handed over a piece of paper. “Lieutenant Commander Malvois found this in Dominowski’s files and Nancy found a duplicate in Miles’ computer.” 

Jed's outburst nearly knocked the plane off course. “He’s the Goddamn Secretary of Defense! He can’t be rewriting Laws of War protocols! This is for certain? This isn’t my brain turning into a nice filling for pierogi!” 

“I doubt it, sir.” 

Plans had to be developed. Lists and priorities turned the gears in his head. “Does he know we know?” 

“Nancy has been discreet. No one other than you, me and Nancy know at the moment. Not even Leo yet.” 

His next phone was at the head of the list now. “I’ll call him. I want Leo and Nancy to get him in the Sit Room. You and I will teleconference and document the circumstances under which I fired him.” 

Mile Hutchinson used his position as the SecDef. While the secret service escorted him out of the OEOB, Jed wanted Miles’ office searched, all paper and computer files collected. 

Jed read further. “I can’t believe this. He flat-out orders Dominowski to,” he read verbatim, “Treat those arrested and those who are awaiting trial or not yet charged with war crimes as enemy belligerents. The Geneva Convention will not apply to Makan Almawt. Any methodology used to extract necessary information can and will include infliction of pain, forced fasting, inaccessibility to water, humiliation by forced sex acts with each other, humiliation by keeping the prisoners naked and any other method of proven technique.” 

Fitz had taken a seat. “That is the original order. I’d like to photocopy it for you. The one in your hand has to be preserved as evidence.” The document was back in his hand. “It’s going to be a long night.” 

“Have the mess make a gallon of coffee.” He yanked the blanket off his legs. “I’ll get dressed and meet you in the office." Scanning the room, he searched for his cane. “Where the hell is it?” He looked to where he always found it – just out of reach. “Hand me that thing. I got to talk to Abbey.” 

***** 

The President, Leo, Fitz and the entire White House staff knew better than to test Dr. Nancy McNally’s strength. She could match any one of them in a battle of wits, muscle or vigor. Being the sole female voice and being of color she owned two reasons to be overlooked yet none of her associates felt overlooking her was sound advice. 

Her loyalty to Jed Bartlet equaled her loyalty to her country. The man recognized her value and often said that if the world was going to be saved, women would be the gender to do it. Then he added, that Nancy would be the first woman to be Chair of the Universe. He valued the opinions of women and extolled what they had the capability of doing. 

They met at Dartmouth where she was a Political Science professor and he taught Economics. A chance meeting over a staff lounge cup of coffee led to an animated conversation about the integration of their two social sciences. Jed Bartlet loved debate and Nancy McNally loved being right. It cemented a bond between them. He had no other name in mind when it came to appointing a National Security Advisor. That position demanded an instant trust, an ability to tell truth to power and international political expertise. 

In her office, she stared at the edict Miles Hutchinson wrote and tapped her finger angrily on her unfortunate desk. She never liked the man but despite his aggressive military policies, he had a sharp military mind and while a complete pain in the ass, he presented a point of view needed when creating huge international policies. 

This was beyond his scope of power. As Secretary of Defense, he was a major advisor to the President but changing an established policy and bucking the DOD’s Law of War Manual was slapping the President’s face in front of the world. She couldn’t allow it and was ready to indict the bastard for treason. 

Waiting patiently for the upcoming meeting with Admiral Sissy Mary and her President kept her agitated. Leo had to be told but that pleasure was all the President’s. So she waited by her phone. Leo would be calling soon. 

***** 

Leo was tired and taking a nap in his office. Not altertogether unusual but when the phone rang, he awoke quickly and sounded as if he had been awake when the call came in. Most often, it was CJ or Josh but this time it was the President. 

“Sir, what’s wrong?” 

The heaviness in Jed’s voice didn’t need a lot of explanation. “It’s worse than I imagined.” 

Knowing Jed Bartlet as well as he did, Leo was certain the trip to Makan Almawt would present him with a new level of political responsibility and hurt. He was right. “We’ll get it taken care of. We’ll close the place.” 

Jed interrupted. “Stop, Leo. This just got worse.” The President explained the finding of Hutchinson’s directive to General Dominowski. “Nancy found a duplicate document in his files. He has to be fired and thrown out of the White House, not allowed back into his office and his office contents has to be confiscated by Babish’s people. Get CJ in on this. She has to know what happened before Hutchinson denies everything publically. She has to know everything before you and Nancy kick the mother fucking son-of-a-bitch out a third floor window.” 

Leo listened with all the skill a Chief of Staff should have. He didn’t need the ramifications of the situation explained to him. He knew already and the plans for Hutchinson would be front page news the next day. That’s when his hell would begin. Firing the guy would be a pleasure. 

Then again, Leo held a more influential position in the White House than CoS. He was the President’s best friend and had been for a few decades. Under the strong words he heard his friend’s reality. “Sir, are you okay?” 

Every day someone asked him that. It’s like they expected his health to crash at any second. “Stop worrying about me. We have infants here, Leo. Babies. Young girls have been raped. So have the boys.” He stopped to suck some oxygen into his panting lungs. “So have the women and the men. All of that is an affront to their faith. It’s an affront to mine.” His voice shook with anger. “It should be an affront to humanity.” Realizing he misspoke, he added, “Fuck, it’s an affront to God.” 

“We’ll take care of it, sir. I promise you that.” 

The weight of his responsibility showed in every tortured word. “It happened on my watch. Someone I trusted betrayed his country and betrayed me.” Breathing got labored. “Taking care of it is too late.” 

Leo left room for both to think and ended the silence by saying, “You used the right word before. We were betrayed. It’s not too late, though, sir. We can fix this wrong. We can.” 

Jed didn’t think Leo understood what he meant. “Yeah, we can fix some of it but, Leo, how do you unrape a 13 year old?” 

Finally Leo heard the words behind the words. Not many would understand the significance of the age. Thirteen years was the President’s age when his father first raped him. “Jed, come home. It’s not good for you to be there.” 

“I’m staying. Go talk to Nancy and do what I said.” He grimaced audibly. “I hurt my back.” 

“Jed, come home.” 

It made all the sense in the world. Everyone could see that. No one would denigrate him for it. After all, he had MS and now a hurt back. Going home was the smart thing to do but he undeniably told Leo, “No.”


	10. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to be the fall guy and fingers point in different directions.

**Two Sides of the Same Coin**

Jed sat in the office of AF1 sipping an endless cup of coffee. He hadn’t slept yet and it was three in the morning. Fitz walked in wearing a robe over his pajamas. For some reason, he still looked like an Admiral. “How come when I’m dressed for sleep I look like an unmade bed and you’re here in your jammies and still look like you actually earned your rank?” 

He smiled amidst a huge yawn. Trying to cover his embarrassment. “I didn’t feel like getting into dress blues before I showered.” 

“Well, I’ve had my shower. I will assume that Leo and Nancy had theirs this morning, too.” 

Sarcasm oozed, “I’m pretty sure you’re right.” 

“Leo is going to call from the Sit Room in,” he checked his watch, “About five minutes. Nancy and Miles are there already.” Fitz scrunched his eyebrows. “How do I know? Just hung up with Leo. He was in his office and on his way there.” 

Before the Admiral sat down, he poured a cup of coffee for himself “I wish I was in the Sit Room with that prick.” 

“I’m glad I’m not.” His uninjured hand made a fist. “I don’t have a very good left hook.” 

Sitting and sipping, Fitz always had a question for his President. “Why did you appoint him? He’s an incredible hawk and that’s coming from a man who made his career in the military.” 

Jed asked himself that question repeatedly since, well, since he appointed him. “I know my personal feelings about military intervention and I am too much of a dove. Leo usually gave me the advice I needed. Then you and Nancy did, too. I wanted another voice in the Cabinet that reflected the opposite standpoint. I have to hear someone like that. It helps me settle on making the decision I want.” 

“Okay, I understand.” A little more coffee was sipped. “That’s a pretty powerful position to appoint just to get an opposite opinion.” 

The gentle rebuke was met with a sigh and Jed’s eyes closing. “And don’t think I haven’t been scolding myself since this broke. I wanted a man who’d seen action, knew what it meant to be a grunt. That’s what he was. A front line guy. Miles enlisted. Used the GI Bill to get his degrees. He had the qualities I was looking for.” He reopened his eyelids. “Only the Pope is infallible. Me, I’m not the Pope.” 

Teasing was a big part of their repartee. “You probably would have been if you were a priest.” 

“Almost was. That’s why I went to Notre Dame.” This reminded him of a previous conversation he had on AF1. “Your next question is ‘what happened?’ The answer is I met Abbey.” 

“I can imagine that she could change the minds of any number of young, anxious seminarians.” 

“We both married women too good for the likes of us.” The subject needed amending. “You hungry?” 

His penchant for teasing people included teasing himself. “Look at me. You think I ever missed a meal in my lifetime?” 

“I used to weigh 155 pounds. This is why I hate time. 

“I’m taller than you but when I enlisted I was, let’s say, the size of a good running back.” The phone rang. It rang again. “You ready?” 

“Can we order breakfast first?” 

The President appreciated his attempt to calm the upcoming confrontation. “This won’t take long. 

***** 

In Washington, Nancy sat at the end of the long table in the Sit Room. Miles Hutchinson sat at his usual spot. He still hadn’t a clue why this meeting was called. He was even more curious about what Nancy had in the large envelope in front of her. “You know what this is about. Why won’t you tell me?” 

“I was ordered not to until Leo, Admiral Fitzwallace and the President are here.” 

Without realizing the cue line Nancy uttered, Leo walked in and sat at between Nancy and Miles. “Good morning.” He pushed a button on the telephone. “Mr. President, I’m in the Sit Room with Nancy and Miles.” 

Back on AF1, the President began. “Thanks, Leo.” He wanted to choose his words carefully but fury makes a disaster of coherence. “Miles, you know where Fitz and I are, right?” 

It started to form in his mind why this particular group was gathered. “Yes, sir. You’re in Qumar.” 

“Do you know what I visited yesterday?” Hutchinson didn’t answer. “You’re not talking, Miles. That’s a change of pace.” 

“Makan Almawt.” 

“Are you starting to understand why this meeting has been called?” 

“I’m assuming you want clarification of our role in the Qumari republic.” 

That would be nice but he had other things to attack first. “I’ll let you try to do that but . . .” 

Fitz didn’t want Hutchinson to think he was about to be fired. “The President and I have seen the mess here. We’re not happy with what we’re seeing.” 

“We deal with terrorists any way we can. They have information we need on suspected anti-American activity.” 

The President shook, vengeance skewing his face. “That six month old boy we saw. How anti-American is he?” The President met more silence. He ordered, “Nancy, show Miles some of those photos.” 

“Yes, Mr. President.” Unwinding the string holding the envelope, she put in her two cents. “Miles, Admiral Fitzwallace received these last week. They were verified.” She talked while Leo slid the photos in front of Secretary of Defense. “The Admiral notified the President and that’s why they took this trip to Qumar.” She addressed the speaker phone. “Mr. President, he has three photos in front of him. Do you want him to see them all?” 

“Leo, what do you think? The photos make an impression yet?” 

Miles wanted to throw the photos back at Nancy and it showed on his face. “At this point, sir, I don’t think he’s taken a good look at the ones in front of him. They’re right here but he’s a coward. He won’t look.” 

“I’m not a coward. I’m a realist who knows that, more often than not, the ends justify the means. The people you’re so concerned about are enemy belligerents that we have to break!” 

The President shouted. “Shut up!” 

Leo handed one photo to Miles and waited for him to take it. “It’s a picture. If we really wanted you to be uncomfortable, you’d be at Makan Almawt, shoved into one of the cages you call cells and then your enemy belligerents could tell you their opinion. You’re getting off easy.” 

“This is what happens when you let . . .” 

Jed finished it, “a lily-livered, bleeding heart, liberal, egg-head Communist get elected President.” 

“Why do you care about these people? You’re supposed to be President of the United States, not Emperor of the World. Stay here and fix the shit you screwed up here.” 

Nancy came to his defense. “He’s in Qumar fixing the shit you screwed up.” She turned her attention to the President. “Sir, should I give Leo the letter you asked me to prepare?” 

“First, show him the memo we got from Dominowski. You know the one you found on his computer. Go ahead. Then give him the letter.” 

Fitzwallace had something to say. “Miles, you know the Laws of War as good or better than anyone I know. What convinced you to write an amendment to it? Better question is why do you think you can do that without talking to anyone like the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” 

The memo didn’t need to be read. He knew it perfectly. “You have no authority over me.” Then staring at Nancy, he demanded, “And you have no right to be going into my private files!” 

Leo paid him no attention. He was reading the resignation letter. “Nicely written, Nancy.” The NSA Director nodded a thank you. Leo looked at Hutchinson. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going read and sign this letter. Then, Oliver Babish and his crew are going to escort you to his offices in the OEOB and you will be questioned. See, we’re not sure if we have to hand you over to Le Hague for committing war crimes. You will not be going back to your office. Babish’s people are already over there confiscating your computer and files. You are fired, Secretary Hutchinson.” An elegant Mont Blanc pen emerged from Leo’s pocket. “You can use this. It’s my favorite pen.” 

Miles was going down throwing every cliché he could. “You can’t fire me, Leo and he’s too weak to.” 

The President had enough. “Miles, you think I’m weak. Okay, your opinion. I don’t give a Goddamn. You’re fired. I, Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States of America, hereby fire Miles Hutchinson, his ass and all the rest of him attached to his ass,” he wanted a finish, “He is no longer Secretary of Defense. He is recognized as an immoral lout who will never again see the inside of the White House or any other government affiliated organization with the possible exception of a Federal Prison.” 

Three people, two sitting with Hutchinson and another on Air Force One spontaneously broke into applause. 

Hutchinson signed the letter. Nancy placed it back in the envelope. “Mr. Hutchinson, you will remain here until a military detail comes to take you to the White House Counsel’s office.” 

Nancy got up to leave. “Leo, we need to talk to staff.” Remembering who was on the phone she said, “I’m about to leave the Sit Room, Mr. President, with your permission.” 

“Thank you for all your good work, Dr. McNally.” 

“You’re welcome, Mr. President.” 

Leo spoke to him as well. “Sir, I’ll keep you informed as to how things are going here.” 

“Thanks, Leo.” 

The Admiral wanted a last word. “Miles, I honestly can say your involvement at Makan Almawt was not a total surprise to me. Your mistake was believing that torture is an acceptable method of interrogation. In accordance with the Laws of War, the Military does not torture people and if we find out it’s happening, we end it.” 

“Fitz, when did you find yourself becoming a wimp? I used to respect you. Can’t do that any longer.” 

“Just don’t worry about it. I can live quite nicely without your respect.” 

The phone was hung up on both ends. 

Fitz was already getting a second cup of coffee. Anguish and anger both showed on the President’s face. “I’m glad that’s over. You were certainly gifted with words today. What was description you gave him? You know, the one where he was trying to tell you what you were.” 

“You have to thank a meeting with Max Lobell with that one. He asked me why we disagree on nearly everything and I told him I was a lily-livered, bleeding heart, liberal, egg-head Communist. Then he told me he was a gun totin’, red-neck, son-of-bitch.” Some Republicans were quite alright with him. “I really like Lobell.” 

***** 

Private Hank Lavin got stationed at Makan Almawt and hated it. His first reaction manifested in complete hatred for the prison. It didn’t take him long to succumb to the mentality that it was his duty to his country to be the best interrogator possible. The fact that he was only a Private fed his ego. The real interrogators were the Sergeants and he was approaching the time when that upgrade in rank was going to happen. He proved himself up to the task of handling the men. It was nothing to strip them of clothing, chain them to tables or in cages. Hood were good because he didn’t have to see the faces of decimating pain and humiliation these men experienced. It was easier that way. 

Most of the men he guarded fell to the torture turning meek and willing to say almost anything. It wasn’t due to weakness. Threats of violence against family members makes most caring husbands and fathers agree to almost anything. They were protecting their loved ones in the only way that seemed possible. 

A few of the men were harder to convince. Those were the men Lavin had to persuade to cower and open up about their unholy activities. One of the most disturbing prisoners fought each interrogation. Jawhar Maalouf, age 29 was kept in solitary and hooded at all times. His wrists were chained together behind his back. Ankles were connected by a strong, short chain making his footsteps small and benign. It wouldn’t be hard to catch up with Maalouf. 

It was time to talk to Maalouf again but the interrogations had been put on hold. Most of the soldiers at Makan Almawt understood why but Lavin didn’t any more. At the arrival of Fitzwallace and the President, he was feeling the pressure to agree with the powers now present. Somehow, it changed. Now, he wanted both the Admiral and the President to go away. If he couldn’t do it, then Maalouf might be the fuse to light an insurrection. 

Lavin rattled his keys against the cage to announce his presence. “Get your ass up, maggot.” The Private entered the cage and poked Maalouf. The prisoner refused to stand. “I said get up!” 

“I speak your language or are you too stupid to remember that?” He groaned as Lavin yanked him to his feet by the wrists chained behind his back. “Now what do you want?” 

He had an idea how to set something in motion that would prove the prison held violent terrorists. “You’ve been summoned to talk to two people. I think you’re going to enjoy this.” 

“I think not. I enjoy nothing about Americans and the feeling is mutual.” 

“Damn straight, pig.” The abomination of pork made the ordinarily dismissed insult much bigger. “That’s what you are, a pig, unclean. You going to cooperate today? If you do, then maybe I won’t have to put my cigarette out on your tiny little prick. Can you even get that thing inside a woman? It’s too small and what real woman would want it?” 

Maalouf had heard it all before. “You are not original.” Lavin lit a cigarette right next to Maalouf’s head. He could smell the match, the smoke and his head dropped. It was the only sign of submission he showed. 

Lavin continued the taunt, sucking in the smoke and making it billow around his prisoner’s head. Pushing him against the cage wall, he move his hand to Maalouf’s genitals. A few strokes started the natural biologic reaction and he began to stiffen. “You like that. I know you’re a faggot. You want a little boy to fuck? I can get you one.” Lavin’s hand continued to arouse the prisoner. “See, when you’re all anxious,” he squeezed hard, “about how well you perform that’s when the cigarette will feel good. You want it to feel good, right?” 

“Go to hell.” 

Lavin dusted the ash off the cigarette to bare the glowing tip. Still hold the engorged organ, he placed the cigarette near the head of the penis. Maalouf held in his pain as best he could but there is only so much a man can take. He let out a cry. “Next one goes right here.” He touched the tip. “Should make taking a piss pretty interesting.” 

“America should die.” 

The invitation was made. “Yeah, you’ve said that before. I told you some people want to talk to you later. You’re something special. I’m supposed to bring you to them in another two hours. Looks like you’ll miss dinner. Too bad.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Me either.” He let another puff of smoke out for Maalouf to smell. “Ready for that next cigarette?” 

“You are the pig.” 

“Boohoo. Aren’t you interested in who’s going to talk to you? You lucked out. Your hood will be gone and you’ll get some pants. See these assholes are weak and insignificant to us. For you, they just might look like power.” 

It intrigued him but he didn’t want it to appear that he wanted to know more. “I don’t care.” 

“You should.” The cigarette burned into his scrotum. The pained sounds were music to the torturer. “Two guys are here. The big black one is Admiral Fitzwallace. He’s the senior ranking military man in the entire United States. The other is smaller, weaker, not very well. Turns out you really hate him.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“That one is the President of the United States, the actual real President. You’re going to meet him alone in a room. See, the Admiral will get called out. You’ll be alone with the man who set this prison up. He’s the one who ordered us to, let’s say, appreciate your women. This place is his idea and you’ll be alone with him.” 

“You are telling me this for a reason. I am not stupid.” 

“You willing to die for your people? You keep saying you are. Here’s a way for you to die in glory.” 

“I am still not stupid. Why do you want me to kill him?” 

“Do you care?” 

The question puzzled him. “Bartlet must die and if that pleases you then it must be harmful to us.” 

Playing mind games was almost too easy when the mind you’re toying with has been deprived of food, water, and the sanities of life. “Most of us, us soldiers, beat you because we’re told to. We want out of this hellhole and it won’t happen until Bartlet is gone. So, if you want out of here as much as we do, then you should have a good meeting with the President of the United States.” 

“The hood will be gone and I will be clothed?” 

“Yeah and Bartlet is weak. He’s sick and has no courage. You would be doing the world a favor.” 

“You are telling me to die in the attempt to kill Bartlet.” 

“I’m just wondering if you have the courage to die in the attempt to free the world of a tyrant. Do you?” 

Maalouf wanted proof of some kind. “If what you tell me is true, take off my hood and unchain my body.” 

As he took the safety off his pistol, Lavin followed Maalouf’s request. “See, you can trust me. We want Bartlet dead.” 

“Why don’t you kill him?” 

“If it’s an American that kills him, he will not be exposed for the dictator he is.” Lavin stopped talking. 

“I need a weapon.”


	11. Kafir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entourage hits a barricade that may stop the President's intention of closing Makan Almawt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic to English translation from Google Translator. Any wrong usage is due to the author's ignorance of Arabic.
> 
> Allahu ‘akbar = God is the greatest  
> 'ana mustaeidun = I am ready.  
> Ghabi = stupid  
> Kafir = infidel

**Kafir**

The young boy was taken out of the room. Hamid was grateful for the clothing, the food, for the freedom he was going to experience soon. Jed and Fitz watched him leave. This child was the third one they’d met so far in this day. The ache of these encounters exhausted both men. In a tired voice, the President bemoaned, “I don’t how many more of these kids I can see.” 

“At least they’re been allowed to bathe and wear clothing.” 

“I couldn’t submit them to any kind of questioning without that. We’d be incredible hypocrites if we did. Now, I’ll admit to a lot but I work hard at not being a hypocrite.” The President yawned. “I need something to drink.” 

“We got water, coffee? I can send for something else.” 

His legs ached but he had to stand or he’d lose feeling entirely. Leaning heavily on the table, he got to his feet. Fitz knew it was time for the man to rest. Trying to get him to do it is another ordeal. 

Jed tried lifting his legs like he was walking to go nowhere. A little march in place would get blood moving but Jed sat down as he felt his right leg start to buckle. He hid the leg problem quite well. Fitz didn’t catch it. Files littered the table and he took one from a pile that looked bigger than the others. Opening it, he scowled. “These are files of the soldiers serving here.” 

Fitz put a bottle of cold water on the table in front of the President. “Sir, I think you should leave those interrogations to me and my staff.” 

“Why?” He took the bottle and the top just wouldn’t unscrew. 

“Sir, “I’d like to keep those interrogations completely military.” While talking, he unobtrusively took the bottle from the President’s hand and opened it without any trouble. As he set it down, he walked off a few steps to get himself a bottle. “I think I’ll have easier access to what we them to tell us if the President of the United States isn’t staring at them.” 

Okay, so his hands were giving him trouble. More betaseron tonight would take care of that. He picked up the now open bottle and took a big swig. “I’m not sure I want to talk to them anyhow. I’ll get too angry and wonder where their humanity went to.” 

“That’s probably the question I ask just before I kick them out of the room. I hope you know, sir, that this place, any place like Makan Almawt is not what the military stands for. It’s not mandated by the Laws of War. This is an outrage.” 

“You know, a while ago, there was this pilot, a woman, who had an affair with a younger enlisted man. Military rules ‘mandated that she get dishonorably discharged. She was. Explain to me how that ends in court martial and this continues.” 

“There will be courts martial here, Mr. President. The incident you mentioned is nothing like this. We do need to maintain the standards even when they might seem nonsensical to you.” 

The bottle of water slid from his hand and spilled on the table. Recognizing what was going on and dealing with it were two things he decided didn’t need his attention. Files were all he’d been reading and maybe his mind and body had one more interview in it. Picking up the top folder he read the name, “Jawhar Maalouf. He’s in the adult male population.” He dropped the file on the table and kept reading. “Captured nine months ago at a bazaar while buying groceries for a group plotting ‘rebel activity’. He maintained he was buying food for his family which consisted of a wife and two sons.” Peering over his glasses, “Must have been a small group plotting rebellion.” 

“Four? That’s all? Don’t you need a group as big as the First Continental Congress to really rebel?” 

“You want me to channel three t Bartlett and ask?” 

“He was the second man to sign the Declaration. He’d know.” 

“And two t Bartlet doesn’t know if four is enough. However, never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world because . . .” 

Fitz finished, “It is the only thing that ever has. I've heard it before." 

“Abbey keeps telling me I’m predictable.” The aching in his neck proved his aging. A reticently lifted hand started to rub tight muscles. “I think it wasn’t a good idea for me to spend that first night sitting in a chair.” 

The Admiral wasn’t blind. “Hey, I’m taking a break. I have a few calls to make to the Pentagon. Believe it or not, we have a plethora of other military bases.” 

"I love words like plethora." The President waved him out. 

Once Fitz got into the hallway, he walked outside and opened his phone. Pacing wouldn’t get the phone answered any more quickly but pacing felt like he was doing something other than waiting interminably for the person to answer. Finally, “It’s Fitz.” Someone asked him a question and he told them, “He’s having trouble but won’t say a word about it.” 

It was bound to happen. The symptoms were obvious to her and probably to him. Knowing he had no choice but to continue, she pushed her better judgment out of his way. “How bad, Fitz?” 

“I can see his legs are kind of weak. He couldn’t open a bottle of water and now his neck hurts a lot. Is that last one an MS thing?” 

Any kind of pain in any part of his body would be related to his MS. “Hard to say. He hasn’t been sleeping right and that could be why.” 

“We’ve scheduled one more interview with a detainee. After that I told him I wanted to start talking to the military here by myself. I made up a cockamamie reason why and he bought it.” He laughed at what Abbey said. “How do you think I got to be Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?” 

***** 

All through the long walk from the men’s cells, Private Lavin had Jawhar Maalouf in front of him. Maalouf looked different when clean, dressed and wearing shoes. One of the shoelaces was untied and Lavin made him stop. “You better tie your shoe. Don’t want the President to think we didn’t allow you to look your best.” 

“You swear on your God that he is the President.” He kneeled down to fix the shoe. “If you lie to me, I will find a way to kill you.” 

“No, of course not. I’m not lying.” He crouched down and slipped a knife down in his shoe with the handle of the military weapon hidden by his pants leg. “You know what to do. Get rid of him and you go free.” 

“They will search me.” 

A pretty good idea but Lavin knew that the prisoners weren’t being searched going into the room with the President. “They expect me to search you out here and I don’t think I’ll do a very good job.” 

Maalouf still didn’t trust the situation. “Ganim was telling tales of his stopping the beating. The President fought with one of you. Kept Ganim from beaten more.” 

“Ganim gave you up. He gave names to them. He’s lying to you. I gave you the fucking knife. Kill the bastard.” 

Maalouf stood up with Lavin right next to him. “Do not think he dies because of your words. Jihad demands he die.” 

“Allahu 'akbar.” 

“You blaspheme. You should die, too.” 

“Kill Bartlet and you will free your people.” 

“I am not . . .” The word escaped him. “It is ghabi in Arabic.” 

The Arabic known to the soldiers was limited but that word Lavin knew. “Ghabi – you mean stupid.” 

“I am not stupid. I do not believe you. Allahu 'akbar. Infidels must die.” 

Lavin smirked, “He denies Islam. That should be reason enough.” 

“Allahu 'akbar.” 

They walked on. Maalouf felt the knife in his shoe, blade pointed down. He felt the occasional nick in his skin but that told him the knife had sharpness and would easily turn the President’s belly into a bleeding mess. 

Finally reaching the outside office, they were confronted by General Dominowski. “He wanted to talk to this piece of dirt?” 

Maalouf spit in her face. She reacted as she had too often before. A backhand slapped his face leaving a red mark. Lavin stood at attention. “And you, I want you in there when he’s questioned.” 

“Yes, ma’am. May I tell the President and Admiral Fitzwallace of your order, ma’am?” 

It took a few moments to decide how to answer. “That’s the only way they’ll allow you to stay. Even then, they may order you out.” The depth of hatred Dominowski felt toward her President multiplied each time she saw his disapproving eyes. “Try to stay. I want to know what they’re asking these vermin.” She walked off not waiting for a salute from her subordinate. 

Lavin talked to the prisoner. “We got to wait out here until they call you in. You know what Allah wants you to do.” 

“Allah wants me to kill you.” 

The Private laughed out loud. “Yeah, but if you can get only one of us, get him. He’s the one that put you here.” 

Maalouf didn’t buy any of it but he had a knife and an audience with the President of the United States. He wasn’t driving a car bomb but he had a way to kill Bartlet. It was an opportunity he would not dismiss. He sat quietly and contemplated how he was going to complete the task. 

Lavin sat back and watched Maalouf. He was going to be in the room when Bartlet got it. It was a bonus he hadn’t expected. His soul abandoned him as he imagined the hero’s welcome he anticipated. 

***** 

Abbey was disturbed by her phone call from Fitz. Jed was not well. She knew it before he left hours earlier and hearing now how he was having trouble standing and opening a bottle of water further validated her feelings. She knew he’d object to looking weak in any way. Macho was too important to most men. He had to be a man among men and that led to foolish behavior most of the time. 

She wanted to get his wheelchair and have it taken along with her to the camp but Jed would be furious. Increasing his stress wasn’t going to help so she compromised. She picked up the phone. “Yes, this is Dr. Bartlet. I’d like someone to take the President’s wheelchair to Makan Almawt. He might find it useful and it needs to be there for him.” 

It was arranged. Now, she was going to be sure they would be having a very pleasant evening. More dining in bed, maybe another movie. Possibly a movie with a little more boy and girl action. It was always nice to have a little encouragement in that area, not that encouragement for Jed was really necessary. 

Tonight’s dinner would be sexy and romantic. The chef was tasked with creating a meal from the amuse bouche to the liqueur laden tiramisu. Good wine accompanied her request. She put herself in the bathroom and took a long bubble bath to put herself into the mood she was working on putting Jed into. 

The wheelchair was on its way. Dinner plans completed. Now she had to ensure that **Tom Jones** was in the library of films on board. If not, there was always **Dirty Dancing**. Yeah, always **Dirty Dancing**. Or that one with Whitney Houston singing “I will always love you.” What was that film? It would come to her and having a choice of three films gave him a say in the choosing. She’d wait to find out if he was feeling devilish like Albert Finney, rebellious like Patrick Swayze or simply hot like Kevin Costner. She wandered off greatly anticipating their night together. 

***** 

Fitz still made phone calls and Jed was getting impatient, not an unusual state for him to enter. Stress typically attacked him when impatient and the combination played with his MS. It was time. They all knew it. He was rapidly progressing into Secondary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis. Some part of his body failed in little ways nearly every day now. The best he hoped for was that he’d be out of office by the time he wasn’t physically capable of performing his duties as President. It wasn’t long until he’d be gratefully handing over the keys to the Oval Office to a new President. He was done – if not with political issues, certainly with his ability to lead and turn those issues into workable law. 

Makan Almawt felt like his last chance to make a real difference in the world. Wheelchair would be his primary method of mobility soon and he could never be in Makan Almawt needing his chair all the time. It was bad enough that they took him to AF1 the day before in the stupid ass wheelchair that followed him everywhere now. 

Where the fuck was Fitz? To hell with him. He called out, “Whoever’s out there. Please bring in Jawhar Maalouf.” Yelling wasn’t the preferred way to usher in the detainee but standing up and walking over left him open to any number of ways he would end up on his face. 

Outside the door, Lavin and Maalouf heard the President call. Lavin whispered, “Told you. Don’t even have the manners to ask you in. Calls for you like he’s calling a cab.” 

Before Maalouf stood, he untied the shoe that contained the knife. “'ana mustaeidun.” 

Lavin opened the door and Maalouf walked in. “Mr. President, Jawhar Maalouf.” 

“Please sit down, Mr. Maalouf.” Jed pointed to a chair. “Admiral Fitzwallace will be here shortly.” 

Still at attention, Lavin informed the President, “I have been asked to stay and witness the interrogation.” 

“First, it’s not an interrogation. We want to talk to people who have been detained here. Secondly, I will assume Major General Dominowski gave you that order. I will also assume you understand that I am Commander in Chief. My order supersedes hers. You don’t need to stay.” Lavin didn’t move. “That was an invitation to get out of here.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted. The President returned it and the room then held two people. 

“Mr. Maalouf, my name is Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States.” 

“Do not make the mistake that I am stupid.” 

Jed smiled, “I was just trying to introduce myself to you. Even the President has to be polite and I like being polite.” 

“When you invade countries that do not like you, you are being polite?” 

“There’s little more that I enjoy more than an animated political discussion but my reason for being here has nothing to do with invasion. I want this prison closed and the people who suffered here to be returned home with the apology of the United States.” 

Maalouf said nothing. Words were easy particularly for this President. His skill with words became fiery oratory when he wanted. To hear him speak was to hear lie after lie. 

“We have some drinks here, water, tea, coffee. There’s food on that table.” He pointed across the room. “Please help yourself at any time. I’m sure Admiral Fitzwallace will be back momentarily. He had to make some telephone calls.” 

He still sat and then realized he could get up from the chair. It made his attack all that much easier. Fitzwallace was not there. It would not be any better if he showed up. Maalouf got up to get food. Filling a plate with anything available, when he turned back, he pretended to notice the untied shoe. The plate was put on the table where the President sat. “My shoe untied.” 

“Sure, go ahead. We’ll wait for the Admiral anyhow.” 

Still standing, Maalouf leaned over to apparently tie errant shoelaces. He gauged where he was, where the President was, what the first wound should be. It had to take him down quickly, make it impossible for him to defend himself. Then he’d attack again to deliver the death blow. 

The President wrote a few notes down allowing time for Maalouf to tie his shoe and start to eat. He wasn’t looking at the detainee. Outside the door, he heard the barreling voice of Fitzwallace. Looking toward the noise, he smiled and said, “Sounds like the Admiral is back.” 

Maalouf raised the knife. He screamed loudly, “Kafir!” The knife came down on the President’s face cutting deeply from his left eye to the corner of his lip. “Kafir!!!” 

The word and the screams of pain from the President had Fitzwallace running in. “Drop the knife!” He tried to get to the President but Maalouf got to him first and plunged the blade into Jed’s gut all the way to the hilt. The Admiral tackled the bastard and held him down. “I need help in here! Get medical in here, now!” 

Being a good-sized man, Fitzwallace had Maalouf under control. Lavin ran in half a second later. He pulled his gun and shot the detainee in the head. Blood and brain splattered over all of them. A wound like that is an explosion. Fitzwallace was beyond wrath. “What the hell did you do that for?” 

“He hurt the President, Admiral!” 

“I’ll deal with you later.” As he spoke he crawled over to his friend. The wound on his head covered his upper body in blood. The blood from his belly covered the lower. A mass of red in agony lay in front of him. He tried to remember combat first aid. Pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding. The knife was still in Jed’s gut and he didn’t know how to put pressure on a head wound. “God damn it!” Suddenly the room filled with soldiers some of whom looked like they knew what to do. “Get the doctor! He needs the doctor!” 

“Commander Thatcher is on his way. Admiral, I’m a paramedic, Sergeant Dikalny. Let me get in there.” 

Fitz moved away staring at his friend, his President. “Is he alive?” 

“Yes, sir.” He removed his shirt and used it to keep the facial laceration from continually bleeding. “Head wounds bleed heavily.” 

“I know that! He’s got a knife sticking out of his belly! Take it out!” 

“That could do more damage, sir. Please stand back and let me get him into the infirmary where we can treat him. Please.” 

Fitzwallace stood back and watched Jed on the floor, his face covered by a blood-soaked shirt and a knife protruding from a wound pouring out more blood. Maalouf lay close to the President with half of his skull missing. It’s not that the Admiral hadn’t witnessed this kind of devastation to the human body. He had but it was different. This was his friend, his President and it happened because he was out making phone calls. He never should have left the President’s alone. 

The Admiral witnessed the occasional Presidential stumble and fall. The President treated those incidents with self-deprecation and got back on his feet. This time, the President wasn’t moving. He was bleeding to the point where transfusions would be necessary. Then he recalled he had the same blood type. He’d donate immediately. He’d donate before he changed out of his ruined clothing. There was something else he had to do. Fuck it – call Abbey.


	12. Gather the Troops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word spreads to the White House and the news breaks.

**Gather the Troops**

The hospital at Makan Almawt was not meant for the kind of surgery the President needed. They could get him ready for transport and that was about it. Abbey arrived with Admiral Hackett who immediately took over. She was a thoracic surgeon and had seen plenty of knife wounds in her day but this was out of her specialty. Lungs were her thing. This knife missed his lungs for which she was thrilled but it cut into his liver, pancreas and large intestine. Along with whole blood transfusions, he was on major antibiotics. Infection was practically a certainty with intestinal lacerations. His face was a mess but all they could do was stop the bleeding and wait for him to get to a good plastic surgeon and an ophthalmologist to attend to the hole in his eye. 

The infirmary was bloody chaos. So was Jed. They pushed Abbey out while the other doctors and nurses worked. He hadn’t regained consciousness and he hadn’t been cleaned up very well. Hackett took her aside. “Ma’am, we’re going to get him to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. His blood volume is better and there’s nothing here for him.” 

“Has the bleeding stopped?” 

“For the most part. Admiral Fitzwallace will be coming with us. He’s a potential donor so our supply should be fine.” 

“Is he conscious?” 

“Not at the moment which is a good thing. He won’t have any memory of all this. He’ll rest easier on the plane, too.” 

“I have to be with him.” 

Hackett knew the President and his First Lady were joined at the hip. He could try to keep her at a distance but that was hopeless. “You know the drill from here. We’ll take him on Air Force One. We have an operating theater there and it will make his ride easier. Your ride, too.” 

“Fine, just let me get to him.” 

“He’s in and out, ma’am.” 

“He might still be able to hear me so let me go.” 

Hackett stepped aside as Abbey approached Jed. While bleeding had mostly stopped, he was still covered with it drying in rivulets tracing all over his body. She got some gauze bandages and dampened them. With all the gentleness her soul had to offer, she began to take the evidence off of him. “You really did it good, this time. I mean Rosslyn was enough but that was a mosquito bite compared to what you’re into now.” Her hand took the cleansing pad and touch the part of his face still exposed. “You, my dear, are going to need plastic surgery. I always said I wanted to do that but you said I didn’t need it. Trust me, Babe, you’re going to need it. Either that or you’ll look like a World War I Flying Ace that had a bad landing. I know you speak German but the look went out with Charles Schulz and the Red Baron.” 

She kept talking nonsense just so he could hear her. The corner of his lip showed a bit of the damage. It made her drop the gauze and he made a small noise. “Honey, Jed, do you hear me?” He made another sound. “Thank God. Listen to me carefully. We’re going to get onto Air Force One and then go to Germany. Landstuhl Medical Center is a great facility. They’ll take care of you there.” Another sound and she hoped it was recognition. At this point, she didn’t want to think he was alone. “I’m here and I’m going to stay with you every second. Understand?” 

She saw his right hand start to shake a bit and try to move. Grabbing on, Abbey told him. “That’s right. I’m here and you’re going to be okay. My family may be pirates but you might end up looking like one. Of course, it would be an elegant pirate with an eye patch, a moustache and a way with women.” She felt him squeeze her hand. “That’s it. That’s my hand.” Jed curled his fingers around hers. “Good boy. I love you.” 

His hand broke from her. It was still moving and she saw him try to do something. At last, she saw his fingers in the American Sign Language position to say “I love you.” Jed was awake and her own heart slowed down a beat of two a minute. 

She made the same gesture and put it in his hand like Annie Sullivan did with Helen Keller. “I love you.” 

***** 

Fitz finished his shower and finally the water running over him was clear. Too much of it had tinged pink. It was a stupid mistake, leaving him alone with detainees who if they weren’t guilty were sure mother fucking mad. Wrapping a towel around him, he picked up the phone. He had to tell one more person what happened. 

Phones ringing in the night, even at eleven o’clock in the night, wreaked havoc on Leo’s peace of mind. Picking up he said, “This better be good.” 

Fitz began to talk. The story spilled out and ended with, “We’re taking him to Landstuhl. I got to finish getting dressed and get back to him.” 

“Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be with him.” 

Both men were angry. “Don’t you think I know that? I should have been at his side. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been there.” 

“That’s n “ot what I meant. I mean, right now, where are you?” 

“Changing in clothes for the flight.” 

“You’re taking time to care for your wardrobe? God, Fitz.” 

“You accusing me? Leo, I was covered in his blood, his blood and Maalouf’s brain.” 

“Calm down. I’m sorry. How long a flight is it?” 

“About four hours.” 

Much as he might try, the image of Jed on the floor with a knife sticking in him was too much. “You think he’ll make it?” 

A long stretch of silence and Fitz told him, “I got to get dressed.” 

“Honest to God, Fitz, you better not be fooling with me. Is he dead?” 

“Dead? I don’t think so. They would have called me. Really Leo, I got to go.” And the line went dead. 

Leo had to stop feeling and starting managing. Phone calls – the staff had to come in immediately. First up, Josh. “Get here now.” 

Lying in bed with the pic of the week, Josh grumbled. “Ah, Leo, I’m having some fun.” 

“Get here, now.” That line went dead. “Toby, I want you back here now and I mean right now. We have a problem.” He waited. “Don’t worry the problem. Get your ass here.” Another hang up and now for CJ, “We’re going to need you. Get here yesterday, got it?” 

“What happened?” 

“I’ll tell you when you get here. You’re going to be an important part of this mess so prepare to stay here the next few days.” 

Dreading his last call, he exhaled deeply, “Charlie, get to the White House right now.” 

“I already know. Zoey and I were together when the First Lady called her. I’ll get to work as soon as I can.” 

“When you get there, gather everyone in the Oval but don’t tell the you know what’s going on.” 

That was enough for now. He had to get dressed and get himself to the White House. 

***** 

Air Force One took off and the four long hours to Germany began. Hackett, Fitz and Abbey crammed into the infirmary. Abbey watched the monitor checking his breathing. The requisite IVs streamed any number of medications that would help keep him alive. 

Hackett knew he had a few chores to take care of. “I’m going to prep the theater just in case.” The tall man exited leaving the trio alone. 

Fitz wanted to know, “Preparing the theater?” 

“In case he has to do some surgery. Theater means operating room.” 

The steward knocked and was let in. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Both refused the offer and he left. 

Fitz continued the conversation, “Operation?” 

“It’s just to prep the room in case. It takes time to set up an OR.” 

“Oh.” 

***** 

The staff arrived and was told to go to the Oval. All four looked like unmade beds. Leo, per usual, was ready for a Brooks Brothers ad. “Fifteen minutes. Not bad.” 

Josh left a woman he was about to boink. “This better be good.” 

Toby yawned and CJ tried to nod off. Leo woke them up in a voice too loud for just past midnight. “This is anything but good. Look at the Resolute.” 

“What the hell for?” Leave it to Toby to show annoyance. 

“Shut up! The man who sits behind that desk was stabbed by a detainee at Makan Almawt. He’s alive but he’s on the way to Landstuhl.” 

CJ no longer looked sleepy. “Leo, how bad is it?” 

“Like I said, he’s alive. I talked to Fitzwallace. The detainee got hold of a military combat knife. He cut the President’s face,” his hand went to his face, “from his left eye down to the corner of his lip. His eye has been damaged and the cut is very deep.” 

Josh was about to have a fit. “Where did the asshole get a knife?” 

“I’m not done. After slicing open the President’s face, he stabbed the President in the stomach area. His liver, pancreas and large intestine were cut. Between the two wounds, he’s gotten nearly a pint of blood in transfusion. He’s being airlifted to Landstuhl. Hackett and the First Lady are both on board Air Force One so he’s in capable hands.” 

Toby turned into Communications Director mode. “Who knows this?” 

“Makan Almawt is in lockdown but I’m sure it’s all over the camp by now. The daughters know. Landstuhl knows so they can prepare for his arrival and the surgery he’ll need.” 

Charlie wanted to know, “The detainee, where’s he now?” 

“Dead. One of the troops shot him in the head at close range. The guy’s skull practically disintegrated.” 

Having lost his mother to violence, Charlie was in no mood to have mercy. “Too bad. He didn’t suffer enough.” 

CJ was going to have to face the press. “So this afternoon, I announced Hutchinson gets fired for writing instructions on how to torture babies and now this? A detainee stabs the President leaving him half blind and needing transfusions.” 

“Josh, you’re in charge of the White House. I’m going to Germany. Charlie is coming with me. Get in touch with Angel and see what the President and First Lady may need. I think they’ll need you.” 

“Leo,” Toby piped in, “I think we announce as soon as possible. We call the press corps to the room and CJ gets a jump on this.” 

“You’ll write me the announcement?” He nodded at CJ. 

Leo heart was breaking each passing second. Knifed in the gut and slashed across his face; a bullet at Rosslyn and all because of that stupid napkin he licked and put on the easel. “I should never have convinced him to run. He’s too liberal and that made him a good target. Why is it that peacemakers are reviled in this country? We killed John and Robert Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin King. We have an affinity for killing those who would never kill.” 

“Knowing him like I do now,” Josh reminded Leo, “It was his decision. You may have brought up the idea but he wanted this. He was born to do this. The country needed him.” It didn’t seem to be helping. Josh changed tactics. “Have you talked to Abbey?” 

“Not yet. I don’t know what to say to her.” 

CJ got up. “I have to call the press corps. They’re going to mad I called them at this hour.” 

Josh offered, “So, don’t call them and see how mad they get then.” 

***** 

Abbey sat alone with her husband. He was breathing on his own which was very good. The face that she always loved was hidden behind bandages. She hadn’t seen the injury to his eye. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. He was such a handsome young man, dashing even. Blue eyes that changed from dark and moody to bright and anticipatory. They proclaimed his emotions like nothing else and now one might be gone. 

Tenderly she put her fingers on the huge bandage covering his cheek. From what she was told, plastic surgery would close the wound but he’d be scarred. It would bother him. He wasn’t really vain but he took pride in how he presented himself. She brushed his hair from his forehead. He did have great hair and didn’t show any sign of a hairline recession. That put a smile on her face. “Such beautiful hair. You are a handsome devil, my love. So handsome.” 

He made some noise. Abbey didn’t want to think he was speaking but she had to ask. “Jed, are you awake?” 

His hand moved in air trying to find where he was. The sound mumbled but she thought she heard her name. “Abbey?” It sounded more like “Ahee.” 

Taking his hand, she leaned close to him. “I’m here, Jed. You’re on Air Force One and we’re going to Germany, to the hospital there.” 

Speaking with the laceration cutting into his mouth proved hard but he tried. His words sounded out unclearly and in a stutter. “I . . . sorry.” 

Yet again, he accepted the blame for everything. “Jed, some lunatic attacked you. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” 

The final letters in each word were missing but he asked, “Am I blind?” 

Lying to him was unkind. Truth was more so. Still she opted to be honest. “We don’t know. Your eyes are bandaged to keep them safe. One of them, your left eye was cut into a little but until we get you to an ophthalmologist we don’t know if you’ve lost sight. The right one is fine.” 

“Hurts.” 

“I’m sure of that. You were stabbed. Do you remember?” He made some sounds that didn’t make sense. “Honey, don’t try to talk. Just relax as best you can. We’ll be in Germany in another hour or so.” 

“Hurts.” 

She ran her hand over his hair enjoying the sensation of its silkiness. “I know. You have a lot of pain killer in you now. We can’t give you more because we want to keep you breathing as nice as you are now. The pain killer makes that harder.” 

Noises came from his weakened body. Abbey had no trouble recognizing the echoes of pain. “I know, Babe.” Caressing his hand, she brought it to her lips and kissed him. “I know.” Her tears quietly ran down her face. She couldn’t let him know she was crying. “You’ve had to be strong all your life. Let me be strong for you now. Just let people take care of you.” 

He had one more thing she needed to hear. “Twenty-five.” 

It was too jumbled. “Don’t talk, Jed.” 

The sound was louder and agitated. “Nnn!” 

“Jed, please.” 

“Nnnn. Nnnnn.” He tried to move but the pain stopped him. He gathered all his power, as limited as it was and tried again. “Twe fi.” 

It was still a mess. “I don’t understand you. Please stay quiet.” 

He pulled his hand away and put two fingers into a peace sign. Then he opened his hand, spreading his fingers apart. He repeated the two gestures. He repeated it again. Abbey tried to solve this puzzle. “Two five?” 

“Yeah.” His body relaxed a little. 

All Abbey had to do now was figure out what two and five meant. “Two five, two five.” She actually heard him, “Oh God, the 25th. You got to sign the letter giving Russell the Presidency.” 

“Yeh, yeh, yeh.” 

“Calm down, Jed. I’ll get some help and we’ll get you the letter.” She watched the tension in his body diminish. “Good. We’ll get the letter.” 

The relief was short felt. Jed started to quiver. “Col.” 

She touched the right side of his jaw. It was as close as touching his forehead she could get. Still, he was warm. The thermometer was close by. Putting it into Jed’s ear she made the discovery she didn’t want to make. He had a fever. “Jed, oh Jed. You always have to excel at everything. It wasn’t necessary for you to develop a fever so fast.” She pulled the blanket off his body. “We have to keep you cool.” 

“Col.” 

“Actually, you’re hot. You’ve already got a fever of 102°, probably from the bowel laceration.” Under her breath, she added, “Which is not good.” 

***** 

CJ stood in front of the press room. From what she could glean from mannerisms and prying eyes, they knew something was up. She had Toby’s announcement in front of her. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I will read the release, provide copies of it afterward but I will not answer any questions. Thank you. 

“Earlier today at 11:20 this morning in Qumar, while visiting the Makan Almawt prison near the city of Kufa, a detainee obtained a military issue knife and attacked President Bartlet.” 

Cameras flashed. Voices filled the room. “Quiet, please. Let me finish.” 

That didn’t work. They all spoke as loud as they could to get her attention. “Stop! Let me tell you what has happened.” They calmed down enough for CJ to continue. “Thank you. President Bartlet received two injuries. The first to his face, a laceration from the outside edge of his left eye to the corner of his mouth and into the lip.” 

More noise and she stood with her arms crossed in front of her. Eventually they got the hint and shut down a little. “Again, thank you. 

“The second injury is the more serious. The knife perforated his abdomen lacerating his liver, pancreas and large intestine. Bleeding from both wounds demanded multiple transfusions. President Bartlet was stabilized at the prison infirmary in Qumar. The First Lady and Admiral Fitzwallace are accompanying the President to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. 

“The detainee was killed during the attack by a soldier stationed at Makan Almawt. His identity is being withheld at this time as is the reason for his being detained initially. 

“Right now, I have no further information for you. This is quite new information. Air Force One has not yet landed in Germany. Once President Bartlet arrives, we will schedule another press conference to bring you the latest information. 

“Now, we know nothing more. Carol will hand out the release.” 

She walked off the platform disregarding the cat calls and the procession following behind her. Security kept them away as CJ made her way back into her office and slammed the door. She drew the blinds, sat on the couch, put her hands to her face and cried.


	13. Beginning to Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steps are taken on all fronts.

**Recovering**

Out of commission, there was no President until that damned letter was written and submitted. His body, barely keeping him alive, couldn’t handle being the leader of the free world. Abbey didn’t want to awaken him but she did. The letter needed his signature. She had him practice before setting pen to the document. He had no sight and not a lot of physical control. Just to be sure, the event was videotaped with a short interview beforehand. The video gave a visual reality to the condition of a man surviving a miserably painful attack. This time that particular man had a face recognized in virtually all the homes of everybody on the face of the earth. The patient with that face, hidden by bandages, could have belonged to anyone of similar size and shape. The video was just a record of someone signing a letter. 

Admiral Fitzwallace made a short statement prior to the signing. “I am Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for the United States of America. I attest to the identity of Josiah Edward Bartlet, President of the United States who earlier today was attacked by a man wielding a knife that cut his face badly. We have a letter for him to sign wherein he invokes the 25th Amendment temporarily giving over the Presidency to Vice President Robert Russell. The First Lady, Dr. Abigail Bartlet will assist President Bartlet in his signing.” 

Abbey held the letter to the camera where it could be read. Going to him as he lay on the stretcher, she put on her professional voice. “I want to explain that Josiah’s inability to speak clearly is due to the injury to his face and mouth.” She sat down close to his side. “Jed, I have the letter required by the 25th Amendment of the Constitution. It temporarily gives the Presidency to Robert Russell, Vice President, until you are well and can resume office. Do you agree to this?” 

He wanted to sound big and Presidential but his injury disallowed that. Conjuring up as much volume as he could he answered, “Yeh, I gree.” 

She touched his arm. “I have the pen.” Touching it to his hand, she continued, “Can you take it?” He did. The letter on a clipboard was held below his hand. “I’m going to put the tip of the pen to the letter. You need to sign it. Ready?” 

“Yeh.” His hand moved relatively quickly which looked really good. The actual signature was a bit too large but he couldn’t see the size of the area. It would do. 

Abbey turned back to the camera. “This letter will be faxed to Washington D.C. immediately and the original will be in the capitol by tomorrow morning.” 

Videotaping stopped. Abbey had to ask. “Did we really have to do all that?” 

Fitz admitted, “Probably not but you never know.” 

“With all the bandages that could be me lying there.” 

Jed made a noise. Fitz and Abbey got to him fast. His wife said, “I’m going to take your right hand, sweetie. It’s just me. Are you okay?” 

His energy waned. Speaking was more difficult and being understood was even worse. The chills shaking him defined his word. “Col.” 

Fitz wanted to help. “I can get another blanket.” 

“No, he has a fever. That’s why he’s cold.” Abbey pulled back the blanket hiding the wraps around his body from the camera. “I know it doesn’t feel right but we need to get that fever down. You’ll warm up then.” 

“Hur . . .” 

Abbey didn’t understand. “Honey, don’t try to talk.” 

Jed tried again, “Pai . . .” 

Her own emotions were overloaded. He’d opened the cut at his mouth. Gauze was at his side and she dabbed at the bit of blood showing at the bandage. “Please, Jed, don’t talk. It’s not good for you. Your mouth was badly cut. You’re opening the wound.” 

“Nuh.” 

Fitz decided to butt in. “Mr. President, calm down. I know you what you want and it’s going to get done. I promise you that I will go back to Makan Almawt and shut it down just like you wanted it to be.” 

His body seemed to relax a little. “Yeh . . .” 

Abbey stared at Fitz. “That’s what he wanted?” 

“You know him better than anyone else. You shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Jed needed her attention. “You need to let Fitz do his job. It’s up to him now. You got it started.” In her head, she thought, “At what price, Jed?” 

She felt the shaking and it worried her. Fever could be the cause. So could blood loss which meant internal bleeding. Then again, he had worsening MS symptoms all the time now. Her fears transformed the quivering into a combination of all that. She thought she was prepared to lose him but each new symptom made her fear stronger and the idea of losing him worse. She noticed his hand moving and watched him form “I love you.” 

An inevitability of tears started and they wouldn’t stop. “Please, just try to sleep. You need to heal and we’re just starting that. There’s a long way to go.” He responded by holding up his hand in the same shape. “Stop that, right now. I want to hold you and I can’t. You’re so badly hurt.” 

His hand dropped to his side. He tried to speak again, “Die?” 

Fitz turned away not wanting to be a fly on the wall in this intimate conversation. “I’ll be outside.” He walked out leaving Abbey and Jed alone. Abbey smiled at his understanding. 

“I’m not going to let you die. Got it?” There was no response. “We’ll get through this. We’ve done it before.” 

He took a few breaths as deeply as he could. “Girs . . .” 

“The girls? I’ve talked to them all. They want you to know they love you and they want to come to Germany. Liz really can’t because of her kids. Zoey wants to come and while I told her not to, she’s like you. She does what she wants. Ellie wouldn’t listen to me at all. She’s on a flight already. To be honest, she’s your clone without the gregariousness. She thinks like you do more than the others.” 

She watched a slight upturn of his undamaged lip. “Ree?” 

“Okay, I got to figure it out. It’s hard to understand what you’re saying.” 

He tried a different tack. “Buh.” 

“Ree buh. Ree buh. Read book? You want me to read to you?” He made an infinitesimal nod. “I don’t have anything to read. I tell you what. If you promise to try and sleep, I’ll sing to you, how’s that?” She would swear he smiled but that was a wish. His pain would be too great. Her singing for him wasn’t unusual. He loved music and wasn’t a bad singer himself but it was listening to her sing American classics that made him happiest. 

“So, you have to rest quietly.” His head moved slightly while still quivering just a bit. One of his favorites and she loved the lyrics, “It had to be you. It had to be you. I wandered around and finally found that somebody who could make me be true, could make me feel blue and even be glad just to be sad thinking of you.” The words spoke to her. It had to be Jed. There was never a doubt. Before knowing he existed, he was her childhood fantasy and her fantasy showed up in this beautiful man. “For nobody else gives me a thrill. With all your faults, I love you still. It had to be you, wonderful you. It had to be you.” She held his hand and kissed it. “You know, it really did have to be you.” Tears returned to her. “Don’t you even dare think of leaving me, got it?” 

With a mumbled whisper he told her, “Ih ha ah e yu.” 

Abbey remembered the last time he sang that song to her. It was her birthday. Too much to consider so she called it off. “Shhh, my love. Be quiet now.” Her fingers ran through his hair. “It had to be you.” 

***** 

Lieutenant Commander Malvois continued his work despite the terror the day presented earlier. It drove him, spurred him on to finish the work the President trusted him with. He sat at the table across the room and watched as the Major General interrogate her troop. 

General Dominowski knew her career was over and the murder of the President’s attacker didn’t help her. Private Lavin stood in front of her desk. “Private, how the hell did Maalouf get your knife?” There was no answer. She got louder. “How the hell did a prisoner get your knife from you, get alone with the President when I told you to be there!” He still didn’t answer. “And then he tries to kill the President!” The lack of response bothered her to the point she was about to whack Lavin. “Talk to me, Private. You’re in deep trouble and if you gave him that knife, you’re going to spend the rest of your miserable life in jail.” 

“Ma’am, I didn’t know he took my knife. My shoe untied and he must have taken it when I wasn’t looking at him.” 

“You’re telling me that the President of the United States might be dying because your shoelace got untied? Do you know how stupid that sounds? If I don’t believe you, don’t think that anyone else will. Fitzwallace will have your hide and I don’t blame him.” 

“Ma’am, Maalouf is dead. We’ll never know how he got the knife.” 

“Lavin, your ass is mine. It was your knife. You shot him in the head to be sure he couldn’t talk. If the President dies, you’ll make it into the history books. You’ll be Bartlet’s Lee Harvey Oswald. Someone for damn sure will try to take you out.” 

“Major General Dominowski, I did my best. Shooting him was all I could do. He was trying to kill Bartlet.” 

“I didn’t vote for the man but when you refer to him, use his title.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Begging your pardon, Major General.” 

She walked around the room. “It’s not my pardon, you need, Lavin. I don’t know who you pray to but I’d start now.” Getting back behind her desk, she pushed the intercom button. “I need MPs here now.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “For your own health, I’m having you arrested for insubordination. Consider it the safest place for you right now.” 

She wanted him gone. “Wait in my outer office. The MPs will be here soon enough.” 

Lavin saluted, turned and left. He exited into the waiting area and found Sgt. Melissa Harrison at her desk. “Sit down, Private.” 

“Yes, Sergeant. Thank you.” 

Harrison stared at him. “You really screwed up, Lavin. Would have expected it from your buddies but you seemed to be the most sensible one. What the hell happened?” 

“Begging your pardon, Sergeant but I don’t think it is to my advantage to speak about this without an attorney present.” 

“That’s how bad you fucked up? You’re a dead man. Bartlet is well-liked and if your knife kills him, you’re never leaving prison.” 

Lavin was itchy about everything. It all blew up in the worst way. His only hope was that Bartlet would be able to testify that it was the President himself who ordered him out of the interrogation area. His future laid in the hands of the man he wanted to see dead. Regardless, he still wanted Bartlet dead. 

***** 

The plane landed and the ambulance was waiting with the engine running. Prepared for their special patient, hospital staff ran nearly as fast as the ambulance. Rooms were ready. Doctors available for each problem already identified and others were there for things that were overlooked so far. Blood was typed and ready in case more transfusion were needed. Abbey was escorted out of the way and found Ellie in a room where they put her out of the way. 

Middle daughter and mother ran to each other. They hugged without a word for the longest time. Ellie had to ask. “How is he?” 

“I honestly don’t know. They got him stable and bandaged everything before I got to him. I haven’t seen the wounds.” 

“They stopped the bleeding? I would imagine it was severe considering the head and liver.” 

“Transfusions helped. Admiral Fitzwallace is a match and he’s ready to donate if necessary.” 

“I’m a blood match with Dad, too. I’ll donate here even if he doesn’t need it. We should help replace what’s been taken.” 

She called it right earlier. Ellie was the one most like Jed. Replacing what was taken was important even in this dire situation. Caressing her child’s cheek, she told her, “You’re remarkable.” 

Not sure why she was complimented, Ellie shrugged, “Thank you, exactly what for, I don’t know but okay.” 

They sat on the couch in the waiting area they were given. A table of snacks sat against the wall. Any number of drinks sat next to the food. “It’s about dinner time for me. What’s the time difference done for you? Are you missing breakfast, lunch or dinner?” 

Jetlag for Ellie was another similarity with her father. “I think I’m five hours ahead of when I left. So it’s somewhere between dinner and bed.” 

“Looks like we each backtracked to the same meal times.” 

Ellie took a look at the food. “You want something? They have fruit, cheese, crackers.” She checked out another tray. “Some croissants and bagels, butter and cream cheese. There’s some proteins here, too.” 

“Protein? Are you talking about ham and chicken?” 

“Some kind of sliced meats. I don’t know.” She poured herself a glass of ginger ale. “Want some?” 

“Coffee, please.” 

“Stay away from caffeine. They got herbal tea or soda. Pick one.” 

“I’ll have ginger ale, mom.” 

Ellie poured a second glass for her mother. “You got to look out for yourself and you’re not going to. So, that’s my job now.” 

They sat silently for a very long time. Both of them were thinking too much and too fast. 

Abbey hadn’t rested since Fitz called her with word of Jed being knifed. Knifed. Why in God’s name would a detainee knife him? He was there trying to close the place down, free the detainees from a prison they didn’t deserve to be in. There was no reason for the man to go after Jed. It had to be set up. He used a military knife. That didn’t matter now. She hated waiting. She wanted to see the damage. Imagining always made things worse. She wanted to see his face. It had to be bad. 

Ellie entered medical research and that suited her. Having to see people suffering and sick wasn’t her thing. Her goal was to keep them healthy and prevent problems. A surgical rotation convinced her that her mother was made of sterner stuff, still medicine was her life. She’d never tell her parents, certainly not her father, but she was interested in working on his disease. So little was known about multiple sclerosis. It treated each victim differently and her father’s course, while typical according to the experts, was only his. Unraveling the mystery of MS fascinated her and she loved her father. He had to stay well – that’s if people stop trying to kill him. She didn’t know her anguish showed up in tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Abbey had a tissue and went to Ellie. Wiping the tears away, she told her, “He’s going to be okay.” 

“I’m not eight years old any more, Mom. I read the physician reports. His liver, pancreas and bowel. He’s going to get sepsis and you know that.” 

Abbey didn’t want to tell her but Ellie knew. “He’s at 102° now.” 

The silence returned. The food remained untouched and Abbey started to yawn. Ellie considered telling her to get some sleep but it wasn’t going to work. Abbey would be there until Jed was out of whatever surgery he was in and she’d stay until the next one was done. 

A nurse finally came to them. “Dr. Bartlet?” 

“Yes,” came from both women. Abbey explained. “Our daughter is a doctor as well. You have news?” 

“Doctor DeLeon would like you to come into the examining room. He wants to talk to you.” 

Ellie stood up, “I want to come.” 

“No, Ellie." 

"I want to see him, too.” 

“Let me go first. Let me have a minute with him.” 

The nurse held the door for Abbey. Her secret service agent followed right behind. “The President is getting prepped for surgery.” 

“What kind of surgery?” 

“I’ll let Dr. DeLeon explain it to you.” 

“Has he stopped bleeding?” 

“Please ma’am, let the doctor explain things.” 

If things were going easy, the nurse would be happy to tell her. “Just tell me. Is he dead?” 

“Oh, no, Dr. Bartlet. He’s got some big problems but he’s fighting real hard. He really is.” 

They got to the exam room and the nurse opened the door for Abbey. Jed was connected to lots of machines. The bandages were off and finally Abbey saw the effects of a knife cutting into her husband’s face. The laceration was splayed for the plastic surgeon to trim the edges. Jed was unconscious. He had to be. The plastic surgeon was doing a preliminary repair. This was just to close things up until later. The ophthalmologist worked alongside. “Sweet Jesus, his face.” 

Dr. DeLeon hurried to Abbey, “Dr. Bartlet, we’re getting ready for abdominal surgery. We’re going to repair the liver, close up the bowel laceration and flood the area with antibiotic. We think that is our best option. The bigger issue is his pancreas. It was too badly damaged and repair is next to impossible.” 

“You’re going remove it?” 

“Yeah, he’ll be insulin dependent and we’ll have to put him on an enzyme cocktail but he should be able to do well with that.” 

Abbey moved to Jed’s side and stared at the mess the plastics guy was working on. “Oh, Jed.” The plastic surgeon clipped a stitch and stood tall with a sigh. “Will he regain use of the facial muscles?” 

“He should. I’m Kyle Salisbury. We did some preliminary repair to the facial muscle. We didn’t have to excise any of the muscle. I did have to do that with some soft tissue.” 

The ophthalmologist joined them. “I’m Janice McCrain. The knife tip punctured the orbit and there was vitreous fluid loss. I’m not sure how much damage was done to his vision in the eye and won’t know that until he’s out of all surgeries. The eye will be surgically repaired after the abdominal surgery which means probably not until tomorrow.” 

“Same thing for the plastics. It will come after the ophthalmic repair. I know physical appearance is important for him but his life and vision come before beauty.” 

“Yes, I understand. What about the fever?” 

Salisbury answered, “Obviously that’s a concern and we’ll monitor it carefully but I’m hoping the antibiotic will bring that down sooner rather than later. The organ with the most damage is actually the pancreas. That’s why the fastest solution now is removal. With the fever and with his history of MS I’m concerned about the length of time he’ll be under anesthesia. Dr. Hackett informed us that he’s showing more symptoms more frequently. It’s going to be a delicate surgery. Well, several delicate surgeries. He is one complicated patient.” 

“I know. What are the odds? I know you don’t want to tell me but I’m a thoracic surgeon who taught thoracic surgery.” 

Salisbury told her, “I never give odds. He’s in trouble and I can’t promise you anything other than he’ll get the best care possible.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Bartlet but he’s in trouble.” 

“You said that.” 

“I meant it.”


	14. The Rhetoric of Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's spin time on several fronts.

**The Rhetoric of Spin**

The attack on their President brought out thousands of Americans lining the White House gates with flowers, hand painted get well signs, and candles burning in hope of a speedy recovery and a return to the President’s home. Churches from Maine to Hawaii held special services as did churches of all faiths around the world. 

Abbey and Ellie waited. Fitzwallace donated blood. Ellie did too. Surgery was going to be a long ordeal for everyone involved especially Jed. The primary surgery stabilized his life. He successfully came through it in record time. The repair to his eye was done at the same time. Two down and one to go. His consciousness hadn’t decided to come back yet from the marathon in the OR and it worried Abbey. 

Sitting at his side, she entertained the occasional visitor. Secret Service posted in the room eventually disappeared into the wallpaper and no one noticed their presence any longer. Abbey didn’t even see Ron Butterfield in the background. He didn’t announce his arrival and wasn’t going to. His job was protecting Josiah Bartlet and again, he believed he failed. 

The “if only” game played havoc with the psyches of too many people. Abbey wasn’t with him when the attack happened so it was her fault. Fitzwallace’s mistake was leaving the President alone in a prison where his presence made him a target. Leo felt his fault came when he suggested that his friend Jed Bartlet run for office. So much fault with absolutely no validity. There were two people who were to blame. One had his head blown off and the other was on his way to Leavenworth to spend a little time with an attorney who would try to get him off. 

As Abbey was expecting someone soon, she straightened out the bedding a little. The much smaller bandage over his eye made his injured face dramatically visible. Surgery determined that his left eye could no longer serve its purpose. One would have to do. Swelling and discoloration transformed his face into a grotesque inhuman mask. She couldn’t see him any longer. This black and blue thing in front of her wasn’t Josiah. He was unrecognizable. The distortion from the swelling contorted his features. 

Somehow she saw beyond the broken body and knew her Jed was there. “You shouldn’t be talking but I would love to see those big blue eyes.” Pluralizing the word shuddered her. She didn’t know if his injured eye simply stared forward from now on. She wanted him to control movement at least. Selfishness perhaps. 

He’d sport a long scar for certain. Society pats itself on the back saying skin deep beauty doesn’t matter. Maybe so, however first impressions do. Regardless of the setting, Jed Bartlet will become a scar with a President attached. 

An agent opened the door and Leo entered without a sound. Abbey kept talking to Jed. “Anyhow, Babe, you rest gently and sleep. You’ll feel better soon.” 

Leo ran to her side. “Is he awake?” And then he saw the President’s face. “Holy shit.” 

Abbey moved aside that Leo could sit next to his friend. “He’s not awake. I just talk to him hoping for, for him to respond to anything. He hasn’t moved an inch.” 

Leo’s face turned pale. He sat, stared and uncharacteristically took Jed’s hand into his. “I told you not to go to that place. Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t know what you were thinking. Damn you and damn that Maalouf guy who knifed you. Your first press conference will be front page news in . . . pick a paper in . . . anywhere in the world.” Still staring he talked to Abbey. “He has more surgery to go?” 

“Dr. Salisbury is doing the preliminary plastic surgery. He says Jed will need more once we get him to the states.” 

“How does he look under the bandages?” 

“Like a bad horror film. The knife perforated his eye and cut the lower lid. It put a hole in his cheek and then sliced into his lower lip.” 

“When’s that surgery?” 

“He has to regain consciousness before they use more anesthesia. It’s not good for his MS. That’s why I talk to him. Ellie tells him about her research. I’ll sing songs he likes. Talk to him, Leo. Maybe a new voice will wake him. The Admiral came about two hours ago and gave him the security briefing.” 

Leo’s emotions were a combination of intense sorrow and nearly violent anger. “He’s got to pull through.” 

“Tell him that.” 

Leo got closer to Jed and spoke right into his ear. “Okay, you son of a bitch, you can’t be picking knife fights with people. You’re not so good at the physical stuff. We need you back in Washington. Things are a mess there. Nancy is trying to hold things together since we fired Hutchinson. He, by the way, is using the attack on you to prove that the detainees are dangerous. Unless you get back in the Oval, he might win public support.” He still held Jed’s hand. “Russell is putting on quite a show. He’s a bigger son of a bitch than Hutchinson. He enjoys pretending he’s smart enough to be President.” What else was there to tell him? Abbey nodded and wanted him to continue. “Let’s see. Josh, Toby, CJ all send their best. They wanted to come but someone has to be in the West Wing to take care of business.” Leo laughed a little. “Toby is ready to hang Hutchinson. You should have heard the press release he wrote for CJ. I don’t think Hutchinson will recover from it this century.” Maybe he could have chosen better words. “I don’t care if Hutchinson ever recovers. You’re the one I’m worried about.” 

Jed’s hand began to tighten around Leo’s. “You squeezing my hand?” 

The hand gripped a bit more. A sound came from the body on the bed. “Eo.” 

Abbey called out, “Jed?” She took his other hand. “Jed, you can open your right eye. Try to.” 

The struggle was obvious. Jed made more sounds but the swelling in his face kept true words from forming. Effort finally opened his eye but even that success had a down side. His cornea reflected red. The deep blue of his eye vanished into a sea of blood. Nothing remained human. Abbey and Leo both realized Jed would not be let near a mirror for a long time. No photos could be taken. There had to be some part of him that was recognizable before the public could see what a knife had done to his face. Abbey was less concerned with the public than she was for Jed. He wasn’t terribly vain about his looks but he took care before public appearances. The swelling and discoloration would go away eventually but probably not before the world will demand to see him, to believe he was healing. 

Jed made more sounds. Leo tried to keep him quiet. “No, Jed. Don’t try to talk. Your mouth is all bandaged.” 

Abbey took over. “You’re going to be okay but right now you just can’t push yourself.” He looked at her and that gift was gratefully received. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve waited for you to look at me. You had surgery earlier today. They fixed up the stuff in your belly. It’s going to be good. You’ll heal fine.” 

His shaking hand tried to get to his face but Leo pulled it back down. “Don’t do that, Jed. Keep your hands down. You got to stay still.” 

He heard their words but he also heard between them. Wanting to know why, all he could pronounce was “I” and they didn’t understand. He gestured as if writing. They knew what he wanted but were hesitant. Jed pounded his hand on the bed. 

Abbey held it down. “No, Jed. Stop, please.” 

Again, he mimed writing. “Abbey, he wants to write and you got to let him. He’s got to get some control back.” Leo opened his briefcase and pulled out a steno pad. He took his pen from his pocket and told Jed, “I have a pen. I’ll put it in your hand. I have paper here.” 

Jed strained to keep his eye open. Abbey told him, “You don’t have to see the paper. You just write.” 

The pen sat in his hand and he fought to put the word “face” on the paper. “Face” was followed by an unsteady question mark. An attempt at glib had Leo saying, “Yeah, you got a face.” He was answered by pounding the pad hard enough to knock it out of Leo’s hand. “Take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Jed threw the pen across the room. “Jed! Stop!” 

He pulled the pad from Leo and pounded at the word he’d written. Abbey took the pad from him and put her hands into both of his. “Your face, Jed, it was cut badly. That’s why you can’t speak. They’re going to repair it all a little later. You’ll get better but right now, your face is a . . .” She wanted to tell him it was a mess but didn’t have the heart. “Your face is bandaged a lot.” Abbey lifted one hand and softly let him feel the thick padding by his blind eye. “That’s gauze bandages. Your eye was operated on this morning along with your belly.” He pulled his hand away from his face and pounded the bed again. 

Leo knew he’d be animated to his detriment if they didn’t tell him the truth he needed to hear. “Abbey, you want me to tell him?” The hand pounded the bed again. “Listen, Jed. You were attacked in Qumar. Do you remember that?” 

He grunted out what sounded like he remembered. Leo kept going. Abbey couldn’t help. Her own tears kept communication with her pretty distant. “You were attacked with a knife, a military knife. A detainee started on your head, got your eye, your cheek and your mouth. Your face is swollen and a variety of shades of blue, black, green, purple.” 

Jed tried again, “I.” They didn’t understand him. His hand went back to his face. “I.” 

Abbey caught on. “Your eye Jed was surgically repaired today. Dr. McCrain saved it but she couldn’t save your vision. Your left eye is blind, sweetie.” 

Jed shook his hand again. He wanted to write more. Leo got up. “You shied my pen to the other side of the room. Let me go get it.” One of the agents picked it up and bought it over. “Thanks.” 

The pen was back in Jed’s hand the pad brought to his side again. Abbey read as he wrote. “M-a-k-a-n. Makan is going to be shut down. Trust Fitz. He’s following through. We told you that yesterday. Do you remember?” 

He wrote n and they knew. Leo wanted to calm him. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay you don’t remember. You will when you’re better.” 

His hand moved again. M-i-r-r-o-r. 

Abbey didn’t want that to happen. How he looked now wasn’t the end result. “Not yet, Jed. You honestly don’t look very good right now but it’s going to get a whole lot better. Be patient.” 

He had more to say. C-a-m-e-r-a. 

“You want a picture of what you look like?” The letter y was all that was needed. “Honey, I don’t think you really do want to see. It’s not your best look at the moment.” 

Anger was growing. Tension was obvious. He wrote the phrase I care and drew a large X through the word care. Even when silenced, he had eloquence. 

“For Christ’s sake, Mr. President, calm down. Time to take a break and get God damn well. That’s your priority.” 

One more time, he could write only one more time. “G-o-t-h-l-l.” 

Abbey didn’t get it. Leo did. “He just told me to go to hell.” 

She had to chuckle. “That’s my boy.” The exertion of writing had his hand falling onto the bed dropping the pen. 

***** 

Miles Hutchinson did not go gently into that good night. He was in for the fight to prove his tactics at Makan Almawt were spot on. The President had been attacked and nearly killed by a detainee. This was evidence that he was right. He plastered himself on every pundit’s television show. Gave an interview to anyone who’d listen. He knew Washington politics well enough to show pity for the devastating attack on Jed Bartlet and still blame the man for being wrong in firing him. 

While he floated from show to show, Nancy McNally reticently put forward the President’s position. No one really cared about the illegality of Makan Almawt. She was guesting on Taylor Reed’s program and he didn’t care about Hutchinson. “Dr. McNally, have you seen the President? There are rumors that he has no face left.” 

“Mr. Reed, the President has suffered a devastating injury. Do you think it might be in poor taste to refer to that as ‘he has no face left’?” 

“It’s only in poor taste if it’s not true. Is it true?” 

“I won’t speak for the President’s medical condition. He signed a letter in keeping with the protocols set forth in the 25th Amendment to temporarily transfer power to the Vice President. Once back in the country he will resume his position. What else do you need to know?” 

“Why was Miles Hutchinson fired? It seems obvious that if a detainee at Makan Almawt knifed the President nearly to death then the Secretary of Defense was correct. These are dangerous criminals who need to be treated like the terrorists they are. This was a man the President was trying to free from the prison. Where was Bartlet’s protection?” 

“First off, Mr. Reed, please refer to him as President Bartlet. Secondly, the detainees at Makan Almawt included babies as young as four months of age. Over two hundred children under the age of 16 were warehoused there. While women have been known to be terrorists, over 1,000 at Makan Almawt were women including the mother of the four month old baby. 

"Young girls and boys were sexually abused because they were labeled terrorists. The President, upon discovering the situation, felt compelled to take responsibility as the Commander in Chief and correct the problems at Makan Almawt. This is commendable. Our military knows better and he wanted the world to know that when we make mistakes, we are willing to admit them and make them right.” 

Reed was a far right wing Bartlet hater and the President’s attack meant not a whole lot to him. “Nice speech, Dr. McNally. Rah rah and all that. Don’t you think terrorists must be destroyed before they take innocent lives? If some of their own lives are innocent, isn’t that worth preventing car bombs in Jerusalem? Look what his misunderstanding of the government of Qumar has done to him personally. I heard he’s blind, unable to speak, will need a lot of plastic surgery to be presentable to his constituency and he has no pancreas so he’s now diabetic and will need daily drugs to cope without a pancreas. How’s all that going to affect his MS?” 

Nancy wanted to bitch-slap the pundit but she contained her animosity and told the story again. “Our actions at Makan Almawt are opposed to the Geneva Convention. We are a country where we respect enemy combatants and punish their misdeeds accordingly. If we are world leaders in doing the right thing then we must actually do the right thing. It’s not hard to understand. Should I try to simplify it for you? 

Reed skipped over the comment to enable her words to have time to be forgotten. “Mr. Hutchinson is looking into a law suit to regain his position. Anything to say about that?” 

Nancy didn’t have the patience of a cranky two year old. “You’re looking for a quote, something to start a debate. Here it is. Miles Hutchinson is a megalomaniac who thinks the Secretary of Defense is in charge of all military operations regardless of the dictates of the true Commander in Chief. He was fired appropriately. That’s it, all I have to say on the matter.” 

Time for a commercial break. “We need to take a minute and we’ll return with National Security Advisor Dr, Nancy McNally who might be able to explain why we haven’t sent a nuclear warhead into Qumar.” 

***** 

Toby hadn’t been home yet. None of them had but Toby’s short fuse didn’t react well when over tired. He corralled the rest of the senior staff into the Mural Room. “We have to have more information. This is ridiculous. We’re giving the press third and fourth hand information! One of us has to be there strictly as a liaison for the two of us who stay behind. 

Josh, who not only looked like an unmade bed but also looked like he slept in it, pointed to Toby. “You go. You’re the Communication Director. You can write the first press release we put out with direct quotes from President Bartlet himself.” 

While difficult to admit Josh was right, CJ added, “We really need photographs. I know he’s not pretty right now but no one has seen him. Some of the lesser of the Fourth Estate are claiming he’s dead and they’re taking plaster casts of his body to create a President Bartlet android.” Josh’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not kidding. We’ll spin his appearance somehow.” 

“From what Leo told me, his head is barely recognizable as human. It’s swollen beyond proportion. The white part of his good eye is all red.” 

CJ tried to imagine the breadth of the deformity her President bore. “We can call it a war injury. What do you think, Tobila?” 

“War injury, a battle injury. That could take away some of the ‘never served in the Army’ rhetoric we get all the time.” 

Josh got up. "As Deputy Chief of Staff, I say you go to Landstuhl, Toby and start to work through this mess.” 

“And when you get there, tell the President that I’m praying for him.” 

“Me, too.” 

Toby had to finish in smart-ass mode, “I’ll tell him two Jews and a Christian walked into a bar.”


	15. What's Next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's Next?

**What’s Next?**

Private Henry (Hank) Lavin was transferred to the military wing of the prison at Makan Almawt. So far, he was only being charged with negligence of duty in that, unbeknownst to him, a detainee stole his knife. It wasn’t going to make his life easy but it certainly was better than them finding out he planned the President’s attack and then murdered the attacker. That was dishonorable discharge and a life in prison. He’d play it close to the vest, terribly distraught that his error resulted in the attack on his President. 

Major General Dominowski was given entrance to the cell Lavin sat in. Still playing the earnest American serviceman, he leapt to his feet and saluted. She saluted back, “Cut the crap, Lavin. Sit down.” She sat in the chair and he sat on the cot. “You and I are going to have a heart to heart.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I’ve been thinking a lot and nothing is coming up roses.” 

Innocence was the mode he decided to work. “I don’t understand, Major General.” 

“I gave you an order to stay with the President.” 

“Ma’am, I explained. He told me to leave.” 

“Uh huh. So you left one of the most obstreperous prisoners in a closed room with your Commander in Chief, a man who can’t defend himself. The guy’s a wuss. He never served. He’s never been in a combat zone where he’s been with the enemy. He comes on visits and stays in officers’ quarters for half an hour.” 

“Ma’am, I didn’t think about the door. It was closed most of the day when prisoners were being interrogated.” 

Lavin wasn’t a great liar. He made them up pretty well but his delivery was far from convincing. Dominowski had the lying and selling it down pat. It let her see through Lavin lies. “Don’t give me bullshit, Private. There is no way Maalouf could have stolen your knife. I don’t care if your boot untied. You gave him the knife. That’s the only thing that makes sense. All I have to do is testify to that and you’re screwed.” 

“Ma’am, no. He stole it from me. I swear.” 

“Swear all you want to. You gave him the knife and probably primed him, goaded him into trying to kill Bartlet.” Lavin displayed his lack of acting skills. She saw him tense up. “I know I’m right.” Watching him turn into oatmeal before her eyes gave her the power she wanted over him. It wasn’t military power she wanted. She wanted his soul. “You’re pathetic.” 

“Ma’am, you’re wrong.” He cringed and twitched. “I wouldn’t want our President to be hurt.” 

“Sweet sentiment, you pitiful piece of crap.” 

Lavin didn’t know where this was all going. He’d never heard Dominowski talk trash about the President. “Ma’am, I don’t understand.” 

“You want to get of this with your ass in one piece?” He said nothing not a muscle moved. Shaking her head from side to side, she kept talking, “Bartlet is a little piece of shit who thinks he knows what goes on here. He doesn’t and he will not ruin my life. I made Major General and I’m not going to lose my promotion.” 

Even Lavin thought Dominowski was going off the deep end. “Ma’am, are you sure you know what you’re saying?” 

“You got a choice. You either go along with what I say or you will spend the rest of your days on death row in Leavenworth. That’s if the bastard dies which we can only hope. If he doesn’t, then it will only be life. I think dying would be easier – for both of you.” 

Fuck, he didn’t know what was best. He wanted it all to go away, for the incident to be the act of an insane prisoner. It wouldn’t be hard to go along with it all. He’d shot the guy. “You know, I killed Maalouf. That’s got to be worth something.” 

“You’ll be the hero of it all. You won’t have to buy a drink in a bar for the rest of your life. Your name will be famous as the murderer of an assassin. Great for hometown newspapers. ‘Local Boy Saves President.’ Just remember who made it possible for you to actually have a life.” 

“Ma’am, why are you telling me all this?” 

She reeked of malevolence. “I will not be taken down because of a know-nothing President. He can’t appreciate the work we’re doing here. I don’t really care what happens to him. I don’t even care what happens to you. I won’t be taken down.” 

“So, ma’am, you’re going to back up my story?” He didn’t trust easily. “I mean, my story is the true. I don’t know when he stole my knife.” 

Standing up got Lavin on his feet as well. “Right and my Aunt Gertrude is really Princess Anastasia.” She called out for a guard. “Unlock this cell!” The guard entered and unlocked the door. “Private Lavin, I can see how this horrible event happened. Maalouf was a dangerous prisoner and your fast thinking kept the President from further injury. Your incarceration will end very soon and you will return to your barracks with the thanks of a grateful nation.” She addressed the guard. “This cell will remain unlocked and Private Lavin will have egress.” 

***** 

Still the number one news story, Jed’s injuries turned into the public’s obsession. Reporters from around the world surrounded Landstuhl which was locked down as tightly as the West Wing. Already he was on insulin to compensate for the absent pancreas. This last invasion of anesthesia had to be kept as short as possible. His numerous, unrelated yet serious medical conditions dictated he not remain anesthetized for too long. 

Dr. McCrain did intricate work on Jed’s lower eyelid and lower lip. The slash on his cheek was Jed’s first of many facial surgeries. Cosmetic reconstructive got put on a waiting list. The technique involved took many hours and was impossible without a more healed wound. Hopefully, the eyelid and lip wouldn’t need additional procedures. 

She was in and out of the OR in five hours. She’d seen worse facial disfigurement but this was the President of the United States. His life was public and his scars would be on display permanently. Even excellent reconstruction inevitably left scars when the damage was this severe. 

She turned the OR over to the surgeon about to wire Jed’s jaw shut. The procedure didn’t take long and the consensus from the medical team thought it wise. Too much movement like talking and eating would hinder healing. 

Bandages covered the stitches but allowed more of his yellowing skin to show. Abbey gazed at the colors on Jed’s face. Swelling hadn’t gone down much. A damp cloth cooled his brow. Jed didn’t have any pain because he was still out. She wanted him alert but explaining the tube up his nose was going to be difficult enough. Abbey would also have tell him why his pain meds weren’t working. MS put a huge restraint on that. He wasn’t going to get as much as he needed to find comfort. Too dangerous for his MS. 

Charlie walked in with Toby. “Dr. Bartlet, Toby’s here.” As he walked out, he told Abbey, "Zoey and I are going to get some lunch." 

Toby wasn’t good with medical stuff. Walking to the bed, his initial reaction was like Leo’s. “My God. I didn’t imagine him looking like this.” 

“An eight inch knife blade sliced into his face. What did you expect?” Her temper had shortened considerably. Sleep deprivation didn’t help but she couldn’t be anywhere other than with Jed. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been to bed since this began.” 

“You got to take care of yourself. I think he’s going to need you a lot.” Toby wasn’t ready for the sight of his President. Nausea started curdling his gut. “Is all the surgery complete now?” She affirmed his question. Finally seeing the damage up close he asked, “Can he talk? His mouth looks awful.” 

“You didn’t see it before it was fixed a few hours ago. He’ll be able to talk once the swelling goes down and the feeding tube is removed.” 

“He can’t eat?” Curiosity tried to invite him to touch the discolored skin. “It doesn’t look real.” 

“One thing at a time. He’ll eat fine. They don’t want him to move his jaw. It was wired shut.” 

“I’m here to help prepare his first appearance. The rumor mongers are having a field day saying he’s dying.” The churning in his belly started to get the best of him. 

“You look green, Toby.” She pointed over her shoulder. “That’s the bathroom. You want to check it out?” 

Mortified that he was that close to the edge of vomiting, he smiled a little bit and walked calmly toward the room where he could ralph in private. Behind the closed door, he washed some cold water over his face and was pleased that he didn’t erupt. Deep breaths and some convincing got him past the idea of throwing up. Seeing his President that misshapen hurt more than he wanted to admit. Because he scowled constantly, a lot of people thought he had very little heart. Those knowing him better saw that his heart was too big. He closed it off to keep from hurting. This was his President though. The decimation on his body horrified him. This was a man that he loved and would never tell anyone that he felt that way. Splashing water brought him out of his daze. The mirror showed a pale complexion painted in fear. He talked to the man in the mirror. “He can’t go on camera yet. Maybe never.” Then again, the President had to be present to his country. There was nothing to spin here. President Bartlet wasn’t going to look good on camera for a very long time. The bold move was getting him out there once he could speak. The power of the President’s speaking was immeasurable but there had to be a way for that talent to shine so brightly it erased the visual. That was his job now. The unnerving visual of the President’s injuries popped into his sight again and this time, his lunch came up and nothing else was going to get back there for a long time. 

From beyond the shut door, Toby heard Abbey calling him. She was telling him the President had awakened. “Toby, Jed’s back.” 

Scared to go back to witness the damage done to this boss, Toby cupped his hand under the cool water and rinsed his mouth. Stalling, he wiped his hand on the towel, breathed and walked back to interact with Jed Bartlet the best way he could. 

Abbey was handing him a pen and grabbed the clipboard. “You can’t talk very well right now. 

Toby got his first look at the reddened cornea in the President’s undamaged eye. It had a Gorey-esque quality and he felt his stomach tighten again. 

The pen wrote the word “talk” with an X across it. 

She gotten good at interpretation of his shorthand. “You have a feeding tube and your jaw was wired shut.” 

Toby tried to leaven the situation a little. “It was the only way to keep you quiet.” It wasn’t funny so he finished up with an apologetic, “Sir.” 

Jed’s pen asked, “Jaw?” 

“It’s wired to help you heal.” His scratching of scribbles was his way of showing anger. “If you’re not moving the muscles in your face, you’ll heal more quickly.” 

Toby wanted to know, “How long?” 

Jed’s hand nodded up and down, the sign language gesture for yes. 

The gesture was a surprise to Toby. “Sign language?” 

“Joey,” was written. His hearing impaired pollster, Joey Lucas, taught him a few things and yes was one of them. His impatience got him pointing at Toby again. He wanted answers. 

Abbey had those. “Hopefully, the feeding tube and the wires in your jaw will only be for three or four days. You don’t have any broken bones. The tube and wires help to rest the soft tissues. Once they start healing, they both come out. It’s not a big deal. No surgery or anything. They’ll just pull the wires pretty carefully and then you’ll be on soft foods and liquid protein drinks for a bit. To be honest, taking out the feeding tube will probably be more uncomfortable but still not too bad.” 

“Lying?” 

“You want me to take that pen away from you? Why would you think I’d lie to you about this? For God’s sake, Jed. Try to find some patience somewhere. Toby is here and he doesn’t need your bad temper.” 

The admonishment of Leo got briefened to “GTH.” 

It didn’t mean anything to Toby. Abbey interpreted, “GTH, go to hell.” 

“At least his personality hasn’t changed.” Jed pounded on GTH. Toby figured that one out pretty easily. “Sorry, Mr. President.” 

“T write speech.” 

“This shorthand is kind of basic but are you asking me to write a speech?” Jed signed yes. “For who, sir?” 

The smart ass with the life-threatening injury wrote down, “Who” and “x-ed” it out. Then he wrote “WhoM,” the m in the word capitalized to chastise Toby’s incorrect grammar. Then he added, “My speech.” 

Abbey and Toby sighed on that one. Neither wanted to tell him that speech wasn’t going to made any time soon. Toby tried. “Sir, I’m sorry but you’re in no condition to be facing the public right now. To be honest, you’ll scare the hell out of them. Your face is not as good looking as it was.” The ink scribbled again. Toby learned quickly. "I understand that makes you angry. It would make me homicidal." 

“Care” appeared on the paper and he drew the x through it. Abbey translated, “He doesn’t care.” 

“I care, Mr. President. You can’t speak. You know that.” 

His hand hesitated when he wrote a “y” and backed it up with his sign for yes. 

The President was an effective communicator and even without language His body started to display defeat. It was painful to watch and Abbey had to ask him. “Are you in a lot of pain, Babe?” 

A weakening hand wrote “YN?” 

It was new to Abbey. “Okay, I got to guess this one. Yes and no with a question mark. Ah, you can’t make up your mind so we’re sort of in pain?” He agreed. “I want to give you all the pain relief you can tolerate but you can’t tolerate much. It’s not good for MS and you’re at the edge of a episode. We can’t depress your nervous system. It’s going to hurt like hell for a few days.” 

Jed’s good eye unleashed a single tear. Abbey kissed it away hoping it hadn’t caught Toby’s attention. It had. “Mr. President, I won’t insult you and say I know how you feel. I can only tell you how I feel.” He tentatively put his hand on top of the President’s. “We’ll get you out there when it’s safe for you to be out there. The damages on your face are evident but I know there’s a lot more you’re dealing with. You had major abdominal surgery. Your best gift to the American people is for you to take a little time to get better. I’m not talking about months. Just give your body a chance to get a little stronger. You can’t be out there looking weak or incapable. I don’t know how mad you’re going to be at me because of this but I’m the expert in communications. Let us take care of you until it’s the right time.” 

His energy depleted, Jed took pen to paper again. “GTH.” 

***** 

Nancy McNally sat with Josh in his office. “Nail Hutchinson’s ass to anything available is what I say.” 

“So very delicately put.” 

“We have to release his memo. The people need to see him for what he is. We can’t hold onto it forever.” 

“Fitzwallace wants it kept under wraps.” 

“Admiral Sissy Mary needs to find his testes and behave like the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” 

He didn’t want to laugh but this was one tough woman and he adored her. “You have a way with words today.” 

She shrugged, “We have to be more aggressive with condemnation of his memo. The whole situation is misunderstood by the public. They don’t know what to believe.” 

“I’m not sure I know what to believe.” 

They sat and sipped coffee. Nancy remembered that Toby had gone to Germany. “Has anyone seen him? I mean did Toby get to see what he looks like?” 

Opening his desk drawer, Josh pulled out two pictures. “Photos seem to be involved in this thing a lot. Toby took these.” Handing one to Nancy, he explained, “He watched the nurses change the President’s bandages on his . . .” the right word appeared, “abdomen. This guy Maalouf did a number. I guess he plunged the knife in,” Josh started to demonstrate. “Then twisted it down. There are a lot of stitches closing him up.” 

Seeing the incisions made Nancy audibly exhale. “Shit.” 

“Hang on. Wait till you see this.” Josh handed over a photo of the President getting his facial bandages changed. The totality of his facial injuries just slapped her hard. Black, blue, green, blood red, stitches, and the equally blood red cornea got documented in this single photo. “Sweet Jesus, pray for him. Wow.” 

“His jaw is wired shut and he’s being fed down a tube threaded in through his nose.” Despite his political savvy, Josh had a naïve streak when it came to people he loved. “The President was trying to help. This doesn’t make sense.” 

Nancy was less naïve. “Unless it was set up. Someone wanted to kill the President and found a way to do it.” 

“But why?” 

“Who the hell knows? I don’t.” 

The rumors are running wild. “You think Hutchinson is part of this?” 

“He’s not that smart. No, I think it’s at Makan Almawt. I don’t trust the Major General and it might be her. Probably more likely it’s a low level soldier with a grudge. I’m thinking the guy who shot Maalouf needs to be questioned. I’m sure he was a part of it.” 

“He’s getting a hero’s reception right now.” 

“He’d better enjoy it now. I don’t think it’s going last.”


	16. Too Late

**Too Late**

Toby didn’t know how to present President Bartlet and have the world see past the stitches and discolorations he suffered. Hell, the man couldn’t even speak yet. He’d at least have to have his voice back to some recognizable level. 

There was a problem in that he needed to be seen as soon as possible. Rumors around the world had him dead, dying, in hiding, speculating that he never would be able to come back to his office. There had to be possibilities of doing something that would show him alive and working but not needing him to talk. 

Toby arrived two days ago and while he could see improvement in the President’s condition, it wouldn’t look that way to those seeing him for the first time. His thoughts were consumed with trying to create the first appearance of a President who was too beat up to be intelligible. 

Jed’s overall condition improved. Movement of his body was important to his recovery. He had to be on his feet and taking some steps. Besides being good for his path to recovery, it helped monitor the effects of his MS. If he thought walking was getting hard before, having his gut split open and an organ removed didn’t help matters. 

After a particularly grueling bout of therapy, agents assisted their President back into bed. He’d grown weary of being weary. Abbey sat with him and it helped his mood – most of the time. Still intubated and wired through the medically induced closure of his face, he tried to talk yet again. 

“When do I get rid of,” he gestured to his face, “get rid of all this?” 

Protecting his wounds took precedence over talking. At least that’s what Abbey thought. “Did you know that you’re more agreeable when you’re semi-conscious? At least, try to have some acceptance of the situation.” She pulled her chair closer to the bed. “Patience is a virtue that you do not have in abundance.” Warm soothing fingers touched the part of his face that didn’t hold stitches. “You’re going be silenced for a few more days.” 

“No.” Growling, “Now.” 

“You’re behaving like Gus when he needs a haircut. Grow up a little.” 

“Growing up means being the President.” Aggression demanded, “A mirror. I need to see what I look like.” The longer they kept his visage from him, the worse it became in his one good eye. “I have to see.” 

“Not yet.”” 

The volume in his voice blew wide open. “Stop!” Fuming words flew painfully fast and barely understandable. “The longer I don’t see it, the more my imagination goes off.” 

He spoke too quickly and nothing sounded like real words. “Say it again. I didn’t get it.” 

He slowed down and worked his sentence one specific word at a time. “It can’t be as bad as I imagine.” 

She hated when he made sense. “All I have is a compact with a mirror in it. Let me get it.” Turning her back to him, she started to retrieve her purse 

Jed felt like shit but he always appreciated his wife’s form from both sides. Watching her lovely rear end historically turned him on. History repeats itself but his body rejected the idea completely. The tales of what a knife can do in a flash of seconds had already become legend. Most legends were exaggerations of a smaller truth. Trouble was his truth was true legend. 

Rummaging in her purse, saying nothing, Abbey found the compact. She gently warned, “Jed, the swelling will go down. The stitches will come out and the bruising gets better each day.” 

Hesitation gingerly took the mirror from her hand. Maybe he didn’t really want to see. A complicated mind like his often thought one thing while doing another. Questioning himself didn’t stop his hands from opening the compact. Didn’t stop his one good eye from looking neither. The padding protecting his dead eye kept reality from him. His lip had similar bandaging. He wanted to know more. Waving at his face he told Abbey, “Take these off.” 

“You’re still healing.” 

“If I hear that again, I’ll scream.” The compact landed on the bed he lay on. Both hands traveled to his face to begin peeling back the paper tape holding the gauze on his face. 

Abbey grabbed his hands. “No, let me do that.” 

As she did, his body tensed up. Pulling on the tape hurt. 

She stopped. “I shouldn’t be doing this. The nurse will have to put them all back on.” 

The last piece of gauze was removed. Abbey picked up the compact and handed it back to Jed. He stared into his reflection. He finally understood why people had to stare at car accidents. Grotesque as it was, he had to keep looking. A shaking hand patted at his swollen lip. Then it reached toward the blind eye, stitches dotted his lower eyelid. When he touched the actual wounds, realism arrived. The faintest of touches caused pain and frightened him. He was the President. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk and wouldn’t be looking like a human being anytime soon. 

Maybe Hutchinson was right. The face staring back at him had no strength. It looked like the face of a victim. Shut the damn compact. Give it back to Abbey and delve too far into your head, far enough to make the world nonexistent. Shut down. Shut down. 

Abbey watched him fade away from her. She’d seen it happen twice before in their lives together. It happened on the day he heard the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. Before that, it happened when he confessed the scars on his back weren’t from clumsy falls on the farm, that his father would beat him. Now she saw it again. She knew it scared him but he didn’t know it scared her more. This time he was so distant for a moment she wasn’t sure he’d be back. 

“Jed, it’s going to be okay. I promise you that you’re going to come through this.” He tilted his head back to better see his bride. “You are going to come through this. You know that, don’t you?” 

Barely loud enough to be heard, he admitted, “Not yet.” 

***** 

Hank Lavin’s destiny seemed secure. His initial arrest had all but been forgotten. He became a hero. Interviewed by a myriad of morning news shows playing the reticent hero, he sadly apologized that he was not able to keep the President from injury. The heartfelt thanks of these easily duped reporters didn’t play well in the White House. 

Lavin’s comment about praying for the President’s recovery had Nancy McNally agitated again. Her instincts were good especially when it came to security issues. That was her job. Her boss counted on her to keep the country safe and she counted on herself to keep him safe. This was too easy for Maalouf. He had help and she was going to break things open including the head of Admiral Sissy Mary. She made the phone call and couldn’t wait to get the Admiral on the line. 

The Admiral was back in Qumar. His primary goal was completing the work Jed Bartlet went there to do. Interest in Hank Lavin was there but he knew where the guy was and didn’t think he had to worry. After all, Nancy McNally was pursuing the issue and her tenacity drove him crazy. Still, he couldn’t deny her strengths. So he wasn’t surprised when his phone rang and she started in on him. 

“Why haven’t you arrested Lavin yet?” 

“Hello, Nancy. How are you?” 

“Do you think we have time for niceties?” 

“Do you think I don’t have enough to do here?” 

She had to admit that he did have his hands full. “All right. You win.” 

Fitz was puzzled and a bit fearful. “What does that mean?” 

“I’m coming to Qumar to investigate the attack on our boy. It’s not moving fast enough.” The idea of Nancy being there had him sighing heavy and very loudly. “I heard that, Fitz. I’m not going to interfere with your investigation. I’m just going to take things off your hands so you can concentrate on Makan Almawt. The President wants it done.” 

Working with Nancy was not so much a sense of dread as it was a welcome problem. Her competence and ability to tell truth to power made her invaluable to President Bartlet and she was the only one who could call the President ‘our boy’. The strength of her title alone got things done and she backed it up with intelligence and perseverance. 

Fitz asked her opinion. “You still think Lavin provided the knife voluntarily.” 

“He gave it to him so he could attack the President. ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ Sherlock Holmes.” 

“I’ve read Conan Doyle and you’re right.” He didn’t believe he actually told Nancy McNally, “Get here as fast as you can.” 

***** 

Ask virtually everyone whoever met Jed Bartlet and they’d say he led the charmed life of a brilliant little boy who first got noticed when he entered fourth grade at age five. Add a charming youngster’s face, a mop of unruly hair, Parrish blue eyes and a facility with language that most adults didn’t own and there was this ideal child whose father beat the crap out of him at every opportunity. Few were aware that the prize mind of New Hampshire, the legacy of the Bartlet family, was a battered child. 

The bandages on Jed’s face hid the work the knife had done. Deep into his funk, he closed himself off. Getting that far into his head led him back to all the darkness in his life. It wasn’t as much remembered pain as it was the emotional toll it took. Impressing the world didn’t matter if he couldn’t impress his father. The knife attack on his body sent him into the past where getting hurt was deserved. Of course, it was silly and he knew it but emotions don’t behave intellectually. 

After every beating from his father, Jed had to work his chores and they were often chores demanded of a man, not a child. It created a maturity beyond his intelligence. A child whose cognitive ability is advanced is still a child unless he isn’t allowed to be. Needing adult maturity at such an early age took childhood away and he didn’t know what it meant to be a kid. It wasn’t until Abbey came into his life that he began to see that he skipped more than grades. 

All of this swam through his thoughts leaving a trail of why and more whys. It had nothing to do with Makan Almawt and the vicious lacerations on his body and face. Still, being attacked, being helpless and, he had to admit, being afraid was identical now as it had been when his father nearly killed him at age 13. 

Abbey watched the past wash over her husband and knew exactly what was going on. It took him years to admit to the depth of hurt his father heaped on him. She was the only one who knew the whole story. Even Mrs. Landingham, his lifelong friend and employee, didn’t realize how cruel his father truly was. 

“You’re not going to like me very much right now.” She tilted his head toward her. “Look at me, Jed.” 

His wired jaw kept words from clarity but she understood, “When can I get out of here?” 

“No subject change, Babe.” The edge of the bed asked her to sit. “It’s more important that you get out of your head. Your father isn’t here and can’t hurt you.” 

“Half right.” 

“I hate when you do this.” A lot of time had passed since she last pulled him out of this deep a melancholia. “There’s nothing I can do to get you back. It’s up to you.” Gently she put herself into his embrace, her head laying against his neck avoiding contact with stitches and as many bruises as possible. He flinched a bit but that proved she had made some sort of contact with him and while it might have been slightly painful, it was real and was now. She began to sing, “What’ll I do when you are far away and I am blue? What’ll I do?” 

“You’ll be better off. Don’t you know that?” 

“Get your head out of this shit, Jed. It’s not helping anyone and certainly not helping you.” 

He tried to do what she wanted. It made the best sense and yet sense didn’t seem to be working. “I don’t know why I get like this. It hasn’t happened for a long time.” 

Her tender lips so delicately landed on his. Eschewing any pain he might feel, she wanted him to feel the physical sense of her touching his body in love. Jed forced himself not to turn from her, wanting to forget his past almost as much as she wanted that. 

Perception of this gentle pain brought him forward in time. “I’m sorry. I keep thinking he’s out of my life and then I invite him back in.” 

Surprisingly, she understood every wired-jaw word. “You’re getting better at talking. That’s a good indication you’re healing, getting a lot better. The docs want to take out the feeding tube and the wires tomorrow.” 

“Already?” Time hadn’t existed for him for several days and he couldn’t tell you if it was Monday, Wednesday or the fifth day of Hanukah. 

“It’s been four days since they were put in. They’ll take them out and start you on some soft foods and liquids.” 

The introduction of food and drink didn’t perk him up. Soft food meant pureed crap and liquids would not include the three fingers of Bulleit Bourbon he craved. “Sorry. I do this when I’m sick. I can’t get hurt without bringing him back.” 

“I know that and I don’t know how to make that stop.” Her habit of pushing his hair off his forehead always caused her to smile and he did as well. “I can’t keep this mess you call hair from falling every direction it wants to either.” Her hand caressed the safe side of his face. “I love you and that’s the best I can do.” 

“After the tube comes out, I go to . . .” 

She didn’t get the last word. “Not sure what you’re saying but even with the wires and tube gone, you’re not leaving here for at least a week and then you’re going to the Residence at the White House. Your belly may not hurt as much but it’s actually more serious than your facial injuries.” 

“No, K ah.” 

“Still not with you.” Then it made sense. “You’re out of your mind.” She stood up, “Josiah Edward Bartlet, you are certifiably crazy. Qumar? Do you think you’re going back to Qumar?’ 

“Have to.” 

“So, do think there’ll be trouble when hell freezes?” The smart ass side of Abbey showed up when she was fuming. “Hate to tell you, buddy, but there is no way in hell that you’re going Qumar.” 

Debating and chess were the teams he captained in college and he could argue both sides of the same coin at the same time. She would win this one and he expected her to win. His request was beyond stupid still he told her, “I have to go. I can’t be afraid to go back.” 

“It has nothing to do with fear, you idiot. Do you understand the extent of your injuries?” 

He threw his hand toward his face. “I know.” 

Figuring out he wasn’t thinking straight, she informed him again. “Your liver was sliced open and you bled so much they had to transfuse you. So, your liver isn’t doing all that great right now. Then there was a hole in your large intestine that spilled shit into your belly. You’re on powerful antibiotics that have kept your fever down to about 102 which isn’t too bad but it could go higher if the infection spreads. Then there’s the matter of your pancreas. It controls insulin production. You don’t have one of those any longer. You are insulin dependent forever and you’ll need additional enzyme therapy. Get it? You’re sick and going to Qumar is not a possibility for you ever again.” 

He’d been told of the other injuries but the pain it gave him was far less than the injury to his face. Emotionally and physically his mouth and the limitations in his speech consumed his self-pity far more than permanent diabetes, Take a pill and that’s that. “I am the President.” 

“And if you want to live to see Matt Santos get inaugurated, then don’t be stupid.” 

Matt was the reason he wanted to get back to Qumar. “I can’t leave him with Makan Almawt. He’s stuck with my decision. Restitution for the detainees will be going on for years.” That was a lot of words for a man whose mouth couldn’t move. He tasted the salty bitterness of blood. “I have to do what I can to help him.” 

He was talking the future and making Abbey very glad. It proved his father was disappearing. “You’ll be counsel to him like DW and Lassiter were to you.” 

“No.” 

She’d had it. Enough already. “Just shut up. You’ve done enough to honor the legacy of three T Bartlett. You’ve certainly done enough to create a legacy for yourself. You can’t fix the world. I keep telling you that and you won’t believe me. Your ego is huge but this is beyond huge. You’re turning the Trinity into a Quartet! Pretty ballsy if you ask me.” 

“You can’t stop me.” 

“You’re behaving like a child. I don’t care how old you are or how much your father hit you or anything. You’re being stupid and if you want to die then you’ll be doing a great job by going back to Qumar.” 

“I started this.” 

“You start a lot of things. You’re the President. You have a couple of thousand people working for you. They can’t follow through?” 

She reached a part of him he didn’t show too often. A great weakness in character showed when he allowed others in but she wasn’t others. Still, displaying what his father called sniveling never came easy. He was a Bartlet and a Bartlet isn’t a woman. Exactly what that meant beyond the obvious never made sense to him but he usually defaulted to stoic. Whether it was the pain or the fear of failure he felt, he came apart at the seams. 

The words stammered out. “This was important to me. We are torturing people. No one deserves torture least of all children. She was so terribly scared to even eat. It is ultimately my responsibility.” 

Most of what he said she could figure out but not because of the sounds of the words. She saw it on his face. “It’s the kids, isn’t it? You said you didn’t have a clue what they feel like but that’s not true. Your father beat you for no reason at all. Those kids are like you. You understand.” She took his hands. “I know you want to see them free and getting to be children again but that will take too much time for any President. You have a country to run. You got Fitz started on the cleanup at Makan Almawt. He’ll make sure it gets done.” She took him in her arms letting his grimaces and flinches tell her when she touched the difficult spots. She did it though. 

His arms wrapped around her as well and she felt the moisture from his eye on her cheek. “You don’t know what it means to be disregarded to the point where your life is irrelevant. It’s a pain you never get past. Never. We did that to those children and the others as well.” 

“And you are making it stop.” The one good eye kept weeping. “Not in time to make things better for you but in time for those children. That is the miracle of Jed Bartlet.” 

“Too late. Too late.”


	17. No Bleeding On Camera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make sense of it all and no one knows what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrases in Arabic are taken from Google Translator. Any errors in the language belong to my unfortunate ignorance of the Arabic Language.

**No Bleeding On Camera**

Trust isn’t easily earned. The detainees were skeptical of the changes going on. They knew one of them tried to kill the President. They couldn’t understand why the soldiers would put up with that. Words went through the cells which weren’t locked any longer. Something was wrong. This big man, this Admiral was making too many things different and there was no belief in the reason they were told. 

Pain and torture doesn’t make a human being have faith in their captors. In a cell where all had been subjected to torture. Asad Bashira bore scars from repeated beatings. He was glad Maalouf tried to kill the American President. Nothing pleased him more than the idea of dead Americans and that one especially. 

The men caged with him didn’t need a lot of encouragement. It was time for midday meals and the line for food was long. The room filled with over 200 men wanting to eat. Asad loudly complained about the quality of what was being served. “Hadhih gamama!” 

Rows of tables lined with chairs waited for the men to begin eating. It didn’t take long for half a dozen of the 20 tables to fill with eight detainees each. The line still was long and the return of their clothing and food that matched their religious dietary needs didn’t make friends. 

One of the guards explained to his buddy, “He said the food is trash.” 

Ray Drake answered, “Lot of nerve. It’s what they eat.” 

“Hadhih gamama!!” 

“Shut up and get your food.” 

Asad nudged his friend Hakeem. “Yueamilunana mithl alhayawanat.” 

“Stupid language. Doesn’t even sound like real words.” 

Hakeem translated, “You treat us like animals.” 

“Yeah, well, act like an animal and you get treated like an animal.” Drake walked around the mess. “You got nothing to complain about no more.” There was an aggravating laugh when he went on. “They gave you pants and you don’t got pork on your plate so you’re complaining about nothing. Just get your food and sit down.” 

More tables filled and the sound inside the room grew with the numbers but it was a troubling noise. Asad kept yelling, “Qutil al’alrikiiyn.” 

Drake answered back, “Not less we kill you first.” 

His buddy told him, “Shut up. They’ll get all edgy. One of them tried to kill the President. He’s yelling to kill the Americans.” 

Asad started chanting, “Qutil al’alrikiiyn! Qutil al’alrikiiyn!” 

Hakeem joined him. “Qutil al’alrikiiyn!” 

Drake pushed Hakeem back when he stepped out of line. The tray of food flew into the line of detainees. Anger pushed back and fists began to fly along with the trays. 

More men joined in and months of degradation exploded into rage. They jumped on the handful of guards. 

***** 

Fitzwallace and McNally sat together going over the file of Henry Lavin. Fitz pointed to part of his record. “He’s been cited for fighting too often. He’s got the ability to arrange for assassination.” 

“Give him to me. I’ll get the truth out of him.” 

“I’m afraid to hand him over. You’ll have him admitting to 9/11.” 

“We know who did that. Just give me time to find him and he’ll be dead.” 

“No doubt.” He checked some additional papers. “I want him in here today. We can’t be letting him do these interviews and making himself out to be the hero.” 

“Dominowski is pushing that. She’s complicit.” 

Nancy was bold in her actions but Fitzwallace had more patience. “You better have solid evidence of that before you make accusations. We can’t be making any errors right now. We have to do this right. It has to be backed with evidence.” 

“Leave me in a room with her and I’ll get a confession.” 

“You could probably get her to admit blowing up the Hindenburg but it has to be backed by evidence. The only way we got Hutchinson was with proof that he encouraged the treatment of the detainees here. Without that, it would just be he said, he said.” 

“And that’s half the problem. Not enough **she** said.” 

Lieutenant Commander Malvois ran into the room. “Excuse me,” he forgot to salute, “We have a riot in the mess hall.” 

Fitz and Nancy followed the young man out and without a clue how to get things under control, just flew into the fray. More soldiers had arrived and Fitz commanded, “No weapons! Separate them and calm them down!” 

From inside the melee, he heard a detainee calling out, “Stop! ‘iinahum yuhawilun almusaeada! Qam bimusaeadati! Saeiduni alrayiys!” 

Fitz recognized the man. “That’s the guy they were torturing last week when the President tackled the soldier.” 

Nancy wanted him to be prominent. “Get him on top of a table. Let him talk!” 

“I don’t know what the hell he’s saying! He could be inciting.” 

Fakih Ganim’s body language showed the side he was on. “Look at him! He’s trying to get them to stop.” 

It became obvious and Fitz got Ganim and with his own actions invited him up on a table. Ganim nodded and called out again. “‘iinahum yuhawilun almusaeada! ‘iinahum yuhawilun almusaeada!” 

Slowly the men began to listen to their fellow detainee. “Manaeahum alrayiys min taedhibi! Manaeahum alrayiys min taedhibi! ‘iinahum yuhawilun almusaeada!” 

Lieutenant Commander Malvois made his way to Fitzwallace’s side. “I can translate. He’s telling them we’re trying to help. Then he said ‘he helped me’ but I don’t know who he is, probably the President. Then he said the President helped him. The President stopped the soldier from torturing him.” 

The fighting ended with factions being carted off to separate areas. Two groups now existed within the detainees – those that understood what the President wanted to have happen and those who didn’t give a flying fuck. Both were legitimate reactions and would need further assistance in working out the mess at Makan Almawt. 

She called it again. Fitzwallace had even more proof of the wisdom Nancy McNally owned. Turning to her he admitted, “You’re too good at this. You amaze me.” 

“It’s about time.” 

***** 

Jed sat in a chair in his bedroom. He insisted on sitting up after the wires and the feeding tube were removed. It was personal pride for him. Getting closer to retaking his Presidency meant he had to be sitting and able to function despite the pain in his gut and his still swollen, bruised face. With all that going on, he’d forgotten about his hand which didn’t bother him at all but again sported a black splint for his fractured finger. 

Abbey sat by him and read a book while he tried to read a brief. “You shouldn’t be working, Jed.” 

The brief fell to the floor from his splinted hand. “Damn it.” While his face was able to move again, it made talking painful. Before it was simply uncomfortable. Having his lips able to move hurt like hell. “I can’t even read because of this stupid splint.” 

“Well, that you did to yourself in the Sit Room.” 

“Why did they put the splint back on? They had it off before.” 

“You weren’t really moving before and they taped your finger. Now, you’re more active and they thought it best to splint you again.” 

Exhaustion plastered itself on his aching body. “Can you grab that,” he pointed to the downed papers on the floor, “and let me read.” A huge yawn began and the stretching hurt every part of his face and even made his belly clench up. 

“I’ll pick it up but, Babe, you need to rest. We have to get you back in bed. I’ll call for the nurse.” 

Putting up an argument was his first thought but then he didn’t feel good and some rest sounded like a plan that could work. “I don’t need help.” 

“Yeah, well, I do.” The call button was rung and Abbey kept talking to him. “You’re doing well, no doubt. You also need a lot of time to heal. I know you hate that word but it’s your reality.” 

He put his uninjured fingers to his mouth, touching the inside of the stitched lip. Withdrawing the finger, they both saw blood. “Shit!” 

A pile of wrapped gauze pads lay on the side table. Abbey took one and gently blotted the blood. “It’s not bad. It’s bound to keep bleeding for a few more days. Maalouf sliced down to your bone. This was not superficial.” 

“When do I get the bandage off my eye?” 

“Not sure. The eye is blind, Jed. Remember that. Even when the bandage comes off, your vision won’t be any better.” The nurse arrived. “He wants to get in bed and I thought it would be good to get some help.” 

Without a word, the nurse assisted her President to his feet and, leaning heavily on her and his wife, he made it back to the bed, grateful that at least he was wearing pajamas instead of the affront to human anatomy hospitals give people to wear. Seeing the bloody gauze, the nurse asked, “Sir, are you bleeding badly?” She pointed to her own mouth. 

“No, just talking too much.” 

Trying to get a smile, Abbey added, “Not that you’ve ever been accused of talking too much before.” 

The nurse spoke to Abbey. “Do you think he needs to see the doctor?” 

“No. He’s fine.” 

“Mind asking me?” 

The nurse apologized and left quickly. It was typical snark of his. “Why do you do that? She was trying to help and you get snippy.” 

“I’ll apologize later.” He lay back and rested his head on the pillows behind him. The bed controls brought the head of the bed higher. “Abbey, I have to make a short speech to the people. They have to see that I’m not dead or dying. How bad will I look?” 

“You’re going to look pretty bad. The stitches won’t come out of your lip and cheek for at least another week. Your eye can be kept bandaged so that will minimize the lacerations there.” 

“Bandages will hide my lip and face, won’t they?” 

“They can be hidden but I think you should let them show. Just like you needed to see because your imagination made things worse? The people need to see that you’ve been cut up but you’re getting better. The more you keep from view, the worse they’ll think you are.” 

“Leo and Toby are coming by at four. They want to talk about the speech.” 

“You’ll have to give it from the bed.” 

“Sitting at the desk of the hospital chairman. It can’t look like a hospital. I have to be behind a desk.” 

“With a broken finger and a two dozen stitches showing. Yeah, the desk will make a lot of difference. Jed, please recognize that you’re still a long way from being well. Don’t push it. Let the people you hired do their jobs.” 

His frame of mind still hadn’t settled. “I’m a lame duck President now, Abbey. I can’t be finishing out my term by handing the office over to Bob Russell. I have to be back and working. I know you don’t want me to work and take time for,” he sneered, “healing. I don’t have time to do that. There are things I have to finish. It’s going to make you mad but I can’t end my Presidency in a hospital bed.” 

“So you’ll end it being dead. That’s a lot better.” 

He didn’t know how else to explain it. No one wanted to understand. He wasn’t sure even he knew what he meant. Drive was not explainable; driven to be a total President, not a make believe President just surviving until January 20 of the next year. It was hard enough seeing his MS become more debilitating. Now he had a scarred face, a stab wound in his gut that created diabetes. Diabetes was all he needed now. Insulin dependent from now until he died. 

It went back to things being unfair. It was okay for things to happen to him. After all, he was “blessed” with a mind only a handful of human beings in all of history were given. No matter what happened to him, he shouldn’t be asking for anything more. The once in a generation brain should be enough for anyone. 

Who cared if you were a battered kid? Who cared if your father hated you? Then again, why should anyone care about your legacy when you’re descended from a signer of the Declaration of Independence, the second signer of the greatest document in history? A great mind doesn’t compensate for a body that can’t quite make it. Too short, not quite coordinated enough, easily bruised and broken and then acquiring the charming malady of Multiple Sclerosis. For years he used the excuse of clumsiness to explain the scars of abuse. Time transformed the just being clumsy lie into a new reality of MS clumsy. His legs crumbled without warning. His one remaining eye would blur up at inopportune times. All that was left was waiting for his mind to fold in on itself. 

Feeling sorry for himself negated all the good he’d known. It was selfish and he didn’t care. He had to finish up his Presidency on his feet, doing the work he started and not giving in to illness or injury. All that was stupid but it gave his life some sense of purpose however illegitimate. Life was more than what he was saying to himself. He didn’t fucking know any more. 

“Abbey, I’m sorry. Please let me have this. I have to be President or nothing I’ve done will have mattered.” 

“That’s bullshit, Jed and you know it.” 

“Yes, I do. You’re always telling me I have to follow my feelings more. I’m doing that and you don’t like it. It’s what I feel right now.” 

There was no reason to talk to him when he got this focused. While capable of a hundred ideas at one time floating in his mind, when he attached onto a single one, the strength of the commitment made it unbreakable. “Jed, I ask only one thing from you.” He looked at her and she continued, “When I tell you that your demand is too dangerous, you will believe me and do what I ask.” 

“I’ll believe you but I can’t promise I’ll do what you ask.” 

“Even if it means you’ll be killing yourself?” 

“Even if it means I’ll be killing myself.” 

That was the man she married. His commitment to her was equally strong as his commitment to his country but right now, it was his country that needed him more than she did. She hated that thought but it was where his head was locked and nothing would move him until he was ready. “Josiah, I love you. I don’t want to live without you.” 

Inevitably, he’d be dead long before his bride. “Abbey, when I’m not here,” he stumbled over the words, “you go on with your life. It’s the right thing. Don’t hold onto me. It’s not the way to live.” 

Suddenly the conversation turned into the words they had never really spoken before. Her fear increased her breathing and her own eyes turned far away. “Please, Jed. I don’t want to hear this.” 

“You have to. I’m older than you to begin with. I’m sick. I’ve been shot, knifed and got MS. It’s too much for me. Maybe not for other men but I can’t do it. I’m only able to do one thing at a time. I want to be President until it’s the next guy’s turn. `” 

“You only want to concentrate of being President. Okay, I can get that, sort of. Here’s the truth though. You will not be able to get rid of your history. Your father beat you. You have MS. You were shot and censured in one year. You’ve been knifed and no matter what you think, all of that is who you are right now. That man is President. He’s also my husband and that lasts beyond the government job description. I want a life with you like we had before politics, when the free world didn’t look to you for leadership.” 

“I want that, too.” Then he honestly wanted to know, “How do I get rid of all the other stuff?” 

“There’s an easy answer to that and you know it.” 

“I can’t get rid of anything. It’s all there all the time.” 

“Complicated, aren’t you?” 

He felt exhaustion from his emotions as much as from his body. “Let me sleep before Leo and Toby show up. I’m tired.” 

Tucking him in, she didn’t bother to tell him she felt as tired as he did. A tender kiss touched his uninjured cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

***** 

Aside from medical doctors, the Presidential spin doctors were in deep conference regarding his first public address. Leo, Toby, Fitz and Nancy sat over a lunch in the officers’ mess. Their private room remained guarded by troops gathered by Lieutenant Commander Malvois. 

The riot had to be addressed and it gave them a great reason for Jed to speak. He was understandable now and the stitches gave the viewers a great frame of reference as to the seriousness of the events that resulted in his attack. Makan Almawt, the Prison of Death, proved to be aptly named and now was a place gaining international recognition. Time to break the story, both sides. 

Toby wanted the point of the speech clarified. “Are we just presenting him as still being alive? So people can see he’s not a wax figure carved by the sculptor who did the carving of Mao.” 

Leo thought it was a good start. “He’s getting stronger. We can get him dressed in street clothes and they’ll see him doing his job.” 

Nancy wanted him to do more. “He has to talk about the riot and calm the world down. We are getting word of nuts out there wanting to kill the detainees because they tried to kill our boy.” 

It’s the angle Toby was hoping for. “That’s better than a simple photo op thing. He’d be addressing a political situation where his current health status didn’t make a difference.” 

Leo added, “He’d like that better, too. It’ll be easier to spin.” 

“No spin.” Toby stood firm. “He tells them about his injuries. His judgment is solid and still incomparable and his focus steady. Then he talks about the prison and what we’ve done there. He has to apologize to the detainees on behalf of the American people.” 

Leo shook his head. “You’ll be able to write something. I’m not worried about that. I’m more concerned about his health. I don’t know how long he can speak before he opens up those mouth stitches. We can’t have him bleeding on camera. You also have to use words that aren’t hard to pronounce.” 

Toby said the obvious, “He has two Nobel Prizes. Big words aren’t hard for him.” 

Nancy reminded him, “It isn’t comprehension. His mouth might not be able to handle the language without breaking open the holes in his face. I’d rather he not try to settle the minds of the American people while a delicate trail of blood travels down his chin.” 

Realities of the President’s circumstance piled up and the consensus created the decision that he would talk to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadhih gamama - The food is trash  
> Yueamilunana mithl alhayawanat - You treat us like animals.  
> Qutil al’alrikiiyn - Kill the Americans.  
> ‘iinahum yuhawilun almusaeada - He helped me.  
> Qam bimusaeadati - They're trying to help.  
> Saeiduni alrayiys - The President stopped the torture.


	18. Misdirected Rage

**Misdirected Rage**

Jed would be in a chair behind a desk. He’d dress like a President and the only bandage that would be seen was the one over his eye. The ugliness on his lip would remain open for viewing. With the swelling greatly reduced, the caterpillar of stitches on his cheek turned to butterfly closures, far less unsettling than a row of six black knots. The stitches inside his mouth would dissolve on their own. Those on the outside weren’t ready to come out but would cover any word slipups he might make. His mouth hadn’t mended yet. The knife sliced through his lip down to scrape against the lower bone in his jaw. The bruise colors were discernable yet but faded to a hue letting you know he was beaten up but getting better. Still, his lower lip graphically validated that he was a long way from getting over this attack. 

The speech would be carried live at eight o’clock on the east coast. For Jed, that was two in the morning. He started getting ready when it was close to midnight and he was tired. Dressing in the ubiquitous blue suit would be the last thing they do. Ellie thought it was okay to pat a little makeup on him hoping to lessen the greenish tint he sported. “Just keep still. We can do the makeup now and freshen it just before you go on.” 

“I hate makeup.” 

“This is only going to hide some of the green you’re wearing. You look a little like a Tim Burton version of Shrek.” 

“That’s what I am now? Jack Skellington’s doppelganger?” His face hurt when he yawned so he tried to avoid it but after midnight he had a reason to yawn. The stretched cheek pulled a butterfly closure off the cut and a drop of blood beaded. Ellie got it with a tissue before it trickled down. 

In an attempt to lighten the situation, Ellie told him, “We should have gotten you one of those Phantom of the Opera masks. Then only your lip would show.” 

“All I need is a cape to go with it.” 

“And the pipes to sing **The Music of the Night**.” She took a little more makeup and told him, “This might sting a little. That lip is tender, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. 

A body torn by a military knife is horror ugly. Jagged edges trimmed of dead skin and stitched with black thread don’t present a pleasant picture but Jed had to talk to the people of the world, not just the United States. “I know I have to do this but I’m not sure I want to.” 

Ellie continued to apply inadequate coverage to her father’s sallow, scarred face. “I can get you a pain killer.” 

She brushed against the stitch at the top of his lip and it had him flinching. His head snapped back a fraction of an inch. A small noise sounded from his throat, a sound he felt showed his weakness. “I can’t be doped up during the speech.” 

“The speech is two hours away. You could get some relief now and be alert as all hell later.” 

A slight shrug practically shouted his answer. “Just a little then.” 

Ellie wanted to talk to him, ask him some questions but talking had to be kept to a minimum. “I want you to use your signs and keep that mouth of yours shut. I’ll try to make it all yes or no stuff.” 

His right hand balled into a fist and his wrist nodded yes. “I can talk.” 

“No one has ever been able to keep you from talking.” She fetched a comb from the small vanity next to his bed. “We’ll do a preliminary untangling of that mop you call hair.” 

The last thing he wanted was to have his hair combed. “I don’t have to do that yet.” His good eye started itching. Squinting down hard, he forgot about the broken finger and bopped himself with the splint. “Damn.” 

“When I was little if you said a swear word in front of us, you put a dollar in the swear jar.” 

“That’s the only way we could afford to feed you three.” 

How true. How true but he got his middle child to smile and laugh. His hand made the sign language depiction for “I love you.” 

She took her father’s hand in hers. “Daddy, you know I love you, don’t you?” Absentmindedly, she bit her lower lip, a habit she developed when she was a toddler. “I miss being with you. I’m sorry I pushed you away but I didn’t think you liked me much.” 

“Ellie, you remember going to Stockholm?” 

“Of course, I do. I didn’t understand the significance of it at the time but I do now. I looked it up after you won the Peace Prize. Only you and Linus Pauling won Nobel prizes in a science and then a second one for peace.” 

He hadn’t brought it up to pat himself on the back. “No, no. Your turn to listen.” A conversation with Toby reminded him of the incident. “After the ceremony, we got to meet the King and your mother was eavesdropping like she likes to do.” The lip began to throb. A five minute speech was going to hurt. “Anyhow, do you know what I talked about when he and I spoke alone?” 

“How would I know that? I was too busy being shy.” 

It wasn’t meant to sound like a rebuke but it did. Too busy being shy. “When I met King Gustav, I told him about you. You loved books. In third grade, you read two grades levels above the other kids. You were an athlete and impressively beautiful and poised.” He had to pause. Throbbing pounded in his ears. “The point of this is . . . The point is I didn’t think you liked me very much and the pain of that, pain I heaped onto myself, is why you pulled away. I’m the one at fault.” His breathing increased. 

“Dad, it’s not true. I don’t know if either of us is at fault or if we’re responsible but it doesn’t matter anymore. I love you and when my agents told me you were hurt and how bad it was, I had to be here. I’m not the kind of doctor you needed but I don’t know. I had to be here just in case.” She stopped suddenly. 

“In case I died.” Every fiber of every muscle in his body wanted to hold his baby girl in his arms and kiss away her tears. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Hugging his baby wasn’t going to be possible for a long time. “I’m sorry.” 

They were avoiding the subject quite nicely. He gave it a shot. “Sweetheart, I’m not doing real well. I mean even without,” his hand swept a circle around his face, “all this mess. You need to know that. I loved you beyond understanding then and I love you even more now.” 

“Dad, there are new medical protocols all the time. MS is erratic at best.” 

“The same could be said about me.” He gestured to the agent in the room. “I’d like to get back in bed for a bit.” Sitting up too long got his belly hurting. 

A behemoth of an agent bore most of his weight and gingerly assisted the President back into bed. Ellie watched with the eager eyes of most young doctors. She was a healer and she had to heal him. Her father’s tenuous health was teaching her an important lesson. Doctors aren’t gods and her father needed an intervention by a supreme being. 

A bandaged gut reminded her that other things were wrong with her father. There weren’t any bruises but his skin color was yellowish. The freshening of his makeup would have to be a complete reapplication. 

Sitting at his side, Ellie watched his visible eye close and thanked God when she heard the regular breathing of sleep. He would get almost 90 minutes of rest before putting on his uniform of blue suit and regimental striped tie. 

***** 

Major General Dominowski sat in her office behind her desk. She wasn’t a happy person to begin with and the arrival of Fitzwallace and the President left her even more surly and increasingly uncooperative. “Dr. McNally, I am devastated that this attack on the President happened here. It is a tragedy that I’ll live with till the end of my life.” 

Nancy’s professional history and manner was perfect for this job. She spotted BS immediately and wasn’t afraid to confront it. “Major General Dominowski, do you think I by that line from you? You don’t care that President Bartlet was nearly killed 50 feet from your office. You know Lavin gave the knife to Maalouf.” 

“That’s an accusation of treason and I’ve given my life to the United States Army.” 

“You want me to stand up and salute?” She still had questions and no real evidence to prove her thoughts. “I want to know whether you knew beforehand that Lavin was trying to kill our President or if you figured it out like I did and now you’re covering for that prick.” 

The use of the word prick surprised the General even though it was a common word in her own vocabulary. Still hoping to get an upper hand, Dominowski answered, “Nice language for someone in your exalted opinion.” She chose the word purposely, “Oh, I meant exalted position. That was a slip of the tongue.” 

“Honey, I’m not sure where that tongue of yours has been but I doubt it ever slipped over the word prick.” 

She took a few good breaths and spoke. “Mrs. McNally.” 

“That’s Dr. McNally, Major General. See, I earned my title. How did you ever get yours?” 

***** 

Private Lavin stood at attention across from Admiral Fitzwallace and was thankful the table between them was that large. God knows, just the physical presence of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was enough to make most enlisted men start to get nervous. The Private hand his hands behind his back and watched as Fitz read a file and read it again. He thumbed back to the beginning and read it a third time. He didn’t need to. He just wanted Lavin to start to squirm even before the questions started. 

Fitz reached for a cup of coffee and took a bit of time to bring it to his lips. Finally, he decided to say something. “Private Henry Lavin, your file here doesn’t make me think you’re the kind of fellow who can’t seem to follow orders without getting pissed off at every turn. That true?” He dropped the file on the table. 

He wasn’t sure what the first question would be but that wasn’t it. “Sir? Excuse me? I don’t understand.” 

“Not the first time you didn’t understand, is it?” Picking the file up again, he found the passage he was looking for. “You pick fights. Seems like you can’t be allowed off base unless you have a keeper. The last four times you were not on duty, you ended up in four different fights.” The Admiral found the specific section he wanted. “And two of them here were because you were,” he read verbatim, “approaching women who did not want Private Lavin’s attention.” Looking over his glasses, he asked, “That true?” 

“Admiral, those were misunderstandings.” 

Still reading, Fitzwallace continued, “So, for the first instance, the woman and three witnesses heard you ask her, a fellow soldier whom you did not know, if she wanted to ‘pet the biggest dick in the Army’. I should assume you meant your penis and not your mentality, right?” 

Lavin was stuck but he wouldn’t go down without a fight of some kind. “Admiral, I take offense at that. She misunderstood what I wanted. I just wanted to buy her a drink.” 

Going back to the file, Fitz went on. “She misunderstood to the point that two soldiers had to pull you off her after you tore her uniform. Why the hell didn’t she press charges? We’re treating women like the military treated people like me a few decades ago. People mu color used to be concerned about reporting boys like you. I use the word boy purposely. You need to grow up in order to approach being a man.” 

Lavin didn’t say a word. His eyes stared forward and his ego started to boil over. Everyone else had proclaimed him a hero. He killed Maalouf. He saved the President. His jaw tightened and the muscles in his neck constricted. Fitzwallace had him. He kept telling himself to just be quiet. They had nothing at all. 

“And this second time, you accompanied another female soldier back to camp and you decided you didn’t need her permission to ‘touch her breasts in an unwelcome manner.’ God, I hate legal lingo. You felt her up and she didn’t want to be felt up.” 

“Again. Admiral, that was a misunderstanding. No charges were ever brought.” 

“I can see that. Apparently Major General Dominowski allows her female staff to get manhandled by slime like you and thinks nothing of it. I’m surprised that a female officer put up with your behavior. I know I wouldn’t have. If you were one of mine, you’d have been dishonorably discharged a long time ago.” 

“Again, Admiral, you’re reading reports that have nothing to do with my performance as a soldier.” 

“Really? You think so?” He drank a little more coffee. “Let’s pretend you have a pristine record here. It’s going to take a lot of imagination on my part. Let’s pretend you’re the perfect enlistee. How in mother-fucking hell does a detainee get **your** knife and then gets the opportunity to attack your President?” Lavin opened his mouth, “And don’t give me any of that shit you give the press. I don’t buy it for a second. There is no way Maalouf took your knife from you and then didn’t use it on you. You were alone with him for a minimum of five minutes. He would have had to steal your knife, hide it on his body so you didn’t notice before he entered the room where the President was and then pull it out within a second of two of you closing the door. Now, you tell me if that doesn’t seem like something a little far-fetched.” 

Lavin stood quietly and tried not to gasp for air any more than he already was. “Admiral, that’s what happened. Honest, it did.” 

"Dr. McNally is talking to General Dominowski right now and she and I know that the two of you are involved here. If you think we won’t get the truth, think again. Now it’s your choice. You want to go down for attempted murder of the President of the United States all by yourself? Or do you think you might want some company. Whichever one of you gets the truth out first will have it easier in the end.” He stood up and walked up to Lavin’s face, nose to nose. “You are going to be tried for the conspiracy and attempted murder of President Josiah Bartlet. Your name will be historic. And I swear to God, if my President dies, people will think Lee Harvey Oswald got off easy.” 

He didn’t get the reference. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Oswald killed President Kennedy but never went to trial. Jack Ruby killed him. Get it now?” 

“Admiral, are you threatening me?” 

“I don’t make threats.” 

***** 

He let them fuss. It’s not because he liked it but he didn’t have the energy to worry about his suit, his makeup, the lighting in the office that would help alleviate some of the weird coloring he had. He tried to stare at the speech he was about to deliver. It should run about ten minutes, not long at all. Toby told him it was only about 1,900 words. 

The room was too busy. Onlookers were everywhere and while he didn’t usually consider his family and staff onlookers, he didn’t want so many people fussing. Zoey, Toby, Leo, Abbey, Ellie, Charlie – each one tying to take care of some aspect of his upcoming presentation and it was overkill. The trying to help shit had to stop. 

Abbey was trying to comb his hair without pulling too much. Even combing hair caused facial pain. His good eye wasn’t working all that well and he wanted to memorize the outline of the speech rather than real words. Extemporizing would be okay and if he didn’t go ten minutes, all the better. 

Leo had a copy of the words Jed was supposed to say. “Anything bother you in here? I think Toby did a great job.” 

He still spoke as much as possible without moving his jaw. The speech was going to be a bitch to deliver. “It’s fine.” 

“He even looked up to see what letters would be harder for you to say right now and tried to avoid words using them.” 

“How nice.” 

Leo could see and hear it. “You’re in a mood, aren’t you?” There wasn’t an answer. Quietly he put his hand on his friend. “This will be the hardest one, Jed. I know you don’t want people to see what Maalouf did to you but it’s better they have the truth than make up something in their head that’s even worse. You won’t always look like this.” 

Sarcasm was not hidden. “Thank you. That’s encouraging, Leo.” His chin dropped to his chest. “I’m tired and I haven’t said a thing yet.” 

Abbey kept at his hair. “Lift your head, Babe. We got to get you looking as normal as possible. Ellie is going to touch up the makeup when I’m done with this overgrown mess of yours. In truth, you need a haircut.” 

“You think people are going to notice my hair?” 

She got to his eye level. “They’re going to see that you’re still President regardless of what that man did to you. So, yes, your hair matters.” 

Ellie was collecting her magic makeup. “Your skin color does, too.” 

“I remember – a Tim Burton version of Shrek.” 

Abbey moved out of the way to let Ellie get at him. “Not for long, Dad. We’ll get some normal looking complexion here soon.” She patted his face with a very neutral shade of tan that didn’t make him look like he was wearing a neutral shade of tan makeup. When she got to his chin, he kept snapping his head back. It hurt and that wouldn’t help enunciation later. “Just a little more, Dad.” She wanted to get a little camouflage on the stitches themselves. “Why do they make stitches black? They afraid we won’t be able to find them?” 

Wanting to assuage his fears, Abbey said, “When they do the final corrective surgery, you will barely be able to see the scar at all.” 

Leo still had the speech in his hand. “You want to go through this again? It hits all the points you need to make.” 

“What about the points I want to make? I’m not going to hang Maalouf out to dry because of what he did to me. Our military, my military caused his anger. I’m not thrilled he took it out on me but can you not see why he did? The United States created this situation and I will not condemn a country or a religious faith because of one man’s misdirected rage.” They all just stared at him. “And you all know that Fitz and Nancy think he was set up to try and kill me. What I have to do is show this face, speak like I still have a brain and say I’m going back to work sooner than they think.” 

Only Abbey could say what they all wanted to say. “Fine, just fine but that sooner than they think thing is going to be longer than you think.” 

His one remaining blue eye still held steel. “I’ll go back when I say I go back. There’s no point in arguing with me. I’m a lame duck as it is. You will not make me lamer.” That much talking had him breathing hard. “Leave the camera guy with me. All the rest of you go away. I’ll do this on my own.” Then he thought again. “Charlie, you stay. The rest of you out now. I don’t need your help.” 

No one said a word. As they were leaving, they heard the cameraman, say, “Two minutes, Mr. President.”


	19. Spin This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jed talks to the world and makes promises he can't keep.

**Spin This**

Jed was behind the desk and grateful he’d sent everyone out. The headache was growing but it could wait. Other things were more important. In a minute, the world would be seeing him and listening to his words. Toby’s speech lay at the side of the desk and he didn’t want it. He’d been extemporaneous before and he’d do it again. All he knew for sure was that he wasn’t going to be talking for ten minutes. 

A black patch covered his bad eye and makeup tried to cover the rest. “Charlie, is this as good as I’m able to look right now?”

“Pretty much, sir. You were torn up good and it looks like it. I’d wait a minute or two before you get into anything important. People are going to be getting used to the new face.” 

The cameraman spoke up. “You got 30 seconds.” 

Charlie pointed at the speech. “You going to need that?” 

The pounding in his bad eye made reading a fantasy. “No. I’m on my own. I just need you to tell me if you’re understanding my words. Some of them aren’t sounding as well as I’d like them too. Shake your head no if you can’t understand me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Five, four, three,” the cameraman showed two fingers then one. The green light went on. In typical Bartlet fashion, the headache was put on hold and Jed began his address.

“Good evening. It’s two AM here in Germany and I’m just going to talk here and say nothing important for a bit. I am assuming many of you are just looking to see what the damage is. From what I’ve been told,” his hand circled his face, “this will improve. At my age, that’s actually comforting.” 

He needed a big breath and he took it. “Most of you are aware that a detainee at Makan Almawt, a prison where innocent Qumari citizens were kept without any charges being brought against them, that this man attacked me with a knife. His attempt to kill me was thwarted and I for one am grateful.” He tried to smile but didn’t get too far as the muscles didn’t want to move. 

Covering his unsuccessful attempt, he continued speaking. “What I want to do now is show you that I am indeed alive and while not quite well, I am improving each day. Let me give you the list so there won’t be any debate. My left eye will be blind but the right one works just fine. I will have three facial scars – my eyelid is scarred. There’s one on my cheek under these butterfly closures and another at my lip which is pretty evident right now. These still hurt a little but not nearly as much as they did. I’m able to speak and my words will gain clarity when the swelling goes down and plastic surgery is complete.

“The second injury was to my abdomen and has me fighting an infection, trying to heal a lacerated liver and without a pancreas. None of that is happy good time news.” He got a smile from Charlie and it lightened his tone and his mood. “I will survive this and with a few new medical protocols in my life, I will be fully functioning in a short while. This is a promise. I am planning on returning to the Presidency very soon. Despite the protests of many important people in my life, I will be back by the end of this week.” 

Charlie’s jaw dropped. His big eyes got bigger and the President could see the shock. Ignoring the reaction that was going to be repeated often from others, he kept on. “Now, I want to talk about Qumar and the situation at Makan Almawt. This place is beyond being an embarrassment to the United States. It was designed to imprison people who have committed no crime. We kept thousands of men in deplorable conditions. These were men who did nothing but voice an opinion. Our country’s first amendment gives all of us freedom of thought and expression. That we attempt to quell that right for others is an atrocity.” 

His voice grew in volume and his wrath was obvious. Speaking with clenched teeth made his words harsher. “Not only did we hold men, we held women and indeed, we held children. The youngest detained in Makan Almawt was only four months old.” With that admission, his hand slammed at the desk. “Just the simple fact that we imprisoned citizens of an allied country should be enough to anger each and every American. She is four months old.” 

The words stopped. It was hard to tell if his fury kept him from speaking or if it was the pain of talking and of admitting what his military had done. “Imprisonment of this population is bad enough but we have more for which we must atone. These detainees were tortured using techniques that have been outlawed for decades and even more decades. All of them shamed to a depth we cannot imagine. I’m not speaking of the men only. Women and children were abused, raped. We are Americans and we do not torture anyone ever for any reason. We do not rape women, children and men.” He had to let his people know that he was not unwilling to fight for his nation. “We will go to war to defend the principles we believe in but not at the expense of our humanity.” 

Cleansing breaths brought his emotions under control. “This horror was told to me by Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, my Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. His documentation was thorough and found incontrovertible. As President of the United States, I am also Commander in Chief of American forces. Therefore, while unbeknownst to me personally, these barbarities were committed in my name. I take that personally.” 

He’d already spoken too long. He moved his tongue over the inside of his lip and tasted a salty warmth. All he needed was to start bleeding on camera. A short clearing of his throat enabled him to put his hand to his lip. No blood showed up. Charlie noticed the move and gave his boss an okay sign and a nod. Nothing was bleeding overtly. “We will take responsibility for Makan Almawt. We are in the process of releasing all the prisoners in an orderly fashion and attempting to return them to the life from which they were stolen. It will not be an easy task. Admiral Fitzwallace and National Security Advisor Dr. Nancy McNally are at the prison now working on its closure. As soon as I am able, I will return to Qumar and to Makan Almawt. This must be made right if we are to call ourselves Americans.” 

He was done and loudly let out an exhale. His body started to tell him to shut up and get help. Collapsing on camera had to be avoided at all costs. “I want to thank all of you who sent cards and prayers to me and my family. They are appreciated to an extent that truly is astonishing. Now, I ask you to include in those good thoughts the people in Makan Almawt. They also need your prayerful concern. Thank you for listening. Goodnight.” 

The cameraman visually counted from five to one and the light snapped from green to red. Charlie went to his side. “Pretty good. You talked for just over six minutes. 

The strength and power of his speech voice flew away like yesterday’s newspapers. He sounded tired and sick and he was both. “Think that might ruffle a few feathers?”

“Hell, yeah. A few people might be upset. One of them is me. Mr. President, you can’t keep the promise you made. You were shanked. Damn, even in my neighborhood, you’d be down for repair for at least another month.” 

Now barely a whisper sounded, “I assume that means I need time to heal. I hate the word heal.” 

On his words, a group of outrage entered starting with Abbey. “Are you crazy?” 

Toby, Ellie, Zoey and finally Leo pushed inside. “I’m not crazy. What I **am** done with is lying here doing nothing.” 

Leo smarted off, “Hate to tell you but that’s what invalids do.” 

His voice came back big and threatening. “Don’t ever use that word in my presence. INvalid is an alternative pronunciation of inVALid. No human being is ever invalid. Last I checked, despite what I look like, I am human.” 

Abbey knew of his hatred for the word. She’d made the mistake early in their relationship when talking about a patient. Quite honestly, it changed her perspective on those who cognizance was disputable. “No one argues with you on your being human, however, right now, you’re being a stupid human.”

Exhaustion sagged his shoulders and dropped his head a bit. “Let me finish this my way. This is the last big thing I do as President, I don’t want to leave it for whoever gets this absurd job next. It happened on my watch. I will end it.” All began to talk at once and he held up his hand and yelled out, “Stop!” The strength of his command ceased the room’s idea of continuing to speak. “I am,” his breath rapidly getting hard, “going to do this.” 

Finishing the sentence her way, Abbey added, “Even if it kills you.” 

The silence stunned everyone including Jed. He looked at the love of his life and told her and her alone, “You know that not finishing this will kill me. You know that.” 

She did. For a man who spent his academic career discovering thousands of shades of gray, there were times when he could only discern black and white. This was a matter of personal honor for her husband. There was no way she could nor would take his honor from him. If that led to death then that’s what it did. Her hand went to push up some more of that defiant hair, her hand touching his forehead. “I know, Josiah.” 

The full name meant she wasn’t going to fight him any longer. He was more than her husband and Josiah was the name she used to tell him that. He heard her and said, “Forgive me, please.” p>“Nothing to forgive.” She allowed her hand to linger on his forehead. “Your temperature is up. I can feel it.” 

Leo was still itching to argue. “Maybe you can get a temperature high enough to keep you in bed for a month. By then, I hope Makan Almawt will be closed and you can go home.” 

No point in keeping the conversation going. Subject change. “Can all of you except for Abbey and Charlie leave me alone? I want to get back into bed. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning.” 

They traipsed out but Leo refused to leave. “Mr. President, you made a promise tonight that you don’t have to keep. No one will call you on it. I promise you that.” Trying to speak calmly was getting too hard. “And if they did, we’d take care of them.”

“Smart ass.” 

“And you love me for it.” 

Leo stormed out. Both Jed’s palms lay against the desktop and he started to push himself up to stand. It didn’t work. His legs buckled immediately. Crashing to the floor, he banged his face on the edge of the desk. Pain pealed out in a long low growling moan. Jed landed face down. 

Abbey took charge. “Charlie, get the chair out of the way.” She knelt at his side and watching blood seep from under the butterfly closures. “You opened up the laceration on your cheek.” 

His hands went to his belly. Pulsing pain throbbed with every heartbeat. “No, please no,” was a plea to his God. Just spare him enough time to finish his work. He’d accept the pain that went with it but he had to be physically capable of making good on his promises. The volume was barely audible. “Please, God, no.”

“Charlie, get help now!” Abbey continued to examine Jed looking for any sign of new or renewed injury. The colostomy was bleeding a bit. That wasn’t always a sign of hurt but his shaking hand wanted to cover the spot. “Jed, Jed, look at me.” He tried. “Good boy. Keep looking at me. You’ll be back in bed soon and feeling better. I promise.” 

She promised him but knew her promise was no more assured than his promise to the American people. Tender fingers pulled off the butterflies peeling from his cheek. The cut reopened and the bleeding was coming faster. His tie pulled too tight and he worked at the knot. Kneeling, Abbey helped him turn onto his back and finished getting it off his neck. She found a use for the discarded material, pressing it on the opened gash. “Ties aren’t supposed to absorb this much fluid. Usually they only get drops of soup on them especially from you.” He didn’t react. Deep concern colored her plea, “Stay with me, Jed.” 

The cold started to overcome his entire body. The shaking started out mild but there. “It’s cold in here.” 

Abbey sat on the floor and laid his head in her lap. “You got the chills. Your temperature is up. Think you can stand up?” 

Garbled utterances sounded like he wanted to get up off the floor. “Not without some great big orderlies to help. I’m not strong enough and neither are you.” 

She ran her hand over his head. “Did you damage anything other than your cheek?” 

He put his hand on his belly. “I hit the arm of the chair. I’m okay.” 

The obviousness of the lie manifested in growing chills and wavering consciousness. “Are you going out on me here or are you sleeping?” 

A furrowed brow confirmed his statement. “I don’t know. I got a headache. My eye.” 

Chills intensified a little. “How in God’s name did you get through the speech? You’re sick, Babe. I know you hate that only time and rest will get you better but you’re not Superman.” p>“Just tired.” A few short gasps of hurt brought his hand to his eye. “Head hurts.” 

Trying to add no more pain, Abbey took off the black patch hiding the still bandaged eye. There was a small area of discoloration on the white pad. It was an odd color and she opted not to uncover more without the ophthalmologist leading the charge. “Oh, Jed, your eye might be infected. We’ll let the doctor deal with it. That’s probably why you have a headache.” She checked her watch. The bandages by his eye should have been changed but the gauze she found was older than that. Somewhere, someone screwed up and didn’t change the covering. Heads were going to roll and she was ready to be the person wielding the scythe. 

***** 

None of them had slept. Almost five in the morning and they waited again to hear what had gone wrong this time. Ellie sat wallowing in her guilt. She applied makeup to him hours earlier. What if it was contaminated? Zoey’s head lay against Charlie’s chest as she snatched a few winks every now and then. Charlie stared at the wall. Leo paced and Toby sat at the far side of the room trying to write the press release about this latest setback. 

Abbey was called out of the room about an hour earlier and they wondered and waited and wondered more and when the door finally opened, she came back in. “I figured you’d still be here.” She spotted a coffee pot. “That still hot?” 

Charlie jumped up and poured her a styrofoam cup of still barely hot coffee. She sipped it and sat down. “Okay, now here’s what happened.” She stopped for a few seconds. “In this group, I don’t know what to call him. So, Mr. President, Jed, and Dad are all going to be fine. It looks like he’s had a relapse of his MS. It has affected his legs again which is why he fell. He didn’t do anything too harmful to the knife wounds in his abdomen. There was a little bleeding but nothing serious, more like the stitches broke a little skin. Internally, he’s okay.” 

Zoey always wanted good news. “So, it’s a little relapse and he’ll be better in a day or so, right?” 

Abbey took a sip of the coffee because she didn’t want to get into what was going on. “Hopefully, the relapse will be under control very soon. He’s very weak but he’s still fighting the infection in his belly and he has another infection that’s going to send him back into surgery. Fortunately, it’s not particularly dangerous but he’s not at all happy about it.” 

Leo wanted to know. “His head, he hit his head.” 

She knew he was thinking skull fracture. “His brain is fine. It’s not bleeding. No, turns out the bad eye got infected. That’s why he had a headache. If that were the only thing he was fighting, they would attack it with all the drugs they had but he’s already on vancomycin which is very powerful and this bacteria grew in spite of it.” 

With her education, Ellie had a guess. “They’re going to enucleate the eye, aren’t they.” 

Abbey was glad she didn’t have to say the word. “It's an easy and quick procedure with minimal time under anesthesia.” 

Toby had a practical mindset. “He’s blind in that eye anyhow. Seems like a good solution. No brain infection and he’s only losing something that is useless now as it is.” 

Ellie and Leo yelled in unison, “Shut up!” 

Abbey raised her hand to stop before it got out of hand. “Everyone, please. Jed knows what’s going to happen and he’s not good with it. He understands why it has to be done but now he’ll need a prosthetic eye.” 

Leo muttered, “On insulin permanently, a prosthetic eye, probably in a wheelchair. Yeah, he’s not going to be happy.”

“Don’t put him in a wheelchair. This isn’t like China. He has sensation in his legs. Damn it, Leo. Don’t start with the spin now. For Christ’s sake, he’s been knifed, blinded, turned into a diabetic and you’re worried about spinning this! I didn’t think you could be that cold. He’s been your friend for decades.” 

Hearing Abbey’s thoughts behind her words, Leo apologized. “You know me better than that, Abb. I’m sorry if you thought I was looking for spin. I swear I wasn’t.” 

Zoey was silently crying into Charlie’s lapel. He tenderly rubbed her back. “He’s doing okay, sweetheart. It won’t be easy but if anyone came overcome problems, it’s your father.” He took her face in his hands. “He raised you, didn’t he?” His warm smile helped her find one for herself. 

Toby didn’t do well with medical stuff but he had to write something for CJ to tell the press. “Ma’am, I hate the word spin as much as you do. I have to write about this and wrap it in a positive note. Let me ask you some questions. I just need yes or no answers.” She seemed to calm down a little. He began, “Is the President conscious.”

“Actually, that’s not yes or no. He was conscious but right now he’s getting medication to help with the surgery.”

“He was conscious then.” A few notes were written down. “Did he make the final decision to enucleate the eye?” Abbey nodded her yes. “Does he have a fever? Another nod. “Is it dangerously high?”

“It’s 102.2 which is elevated but not too bad.” 

More notes marked with an E. He’d talk to Ellie about the temperature. “How does this complicate his recovery?” 

Abbey didn’t want to make a liar out of the man elected President. “He said he’d go back to Qumar. I don’t want him to do that and I hope he realizes he can’t possibly go now.” 

Leo added his opinion. “I won’t let him go to Qumar, Abbey. He won’t, I promise you. I can go instead. In fact, that’s what you’ll write. Tell the press that he recognized the issue and told me to go.”

“I can’t lie, Leo. I’m not going to write that anyone is taking his place. They’ll construe that to mean he needs replacing.” 

Abbey heard Toby and got agitated. “I didn’t mean he couldn’t be President. His brain is fine and his body isn’t 100% but he can do his job and damn sight better than Russell or anyone else on this planet!”

“Ma’am, I apologize. We have a little less than a year for him to stay in office. I want him there until January 20th at 11:59 and 59 seconds. No one else will fill his shoes ever. I need the truth because I will not allow anyone to think he is weak.” 

Toby surprised people often but his admiration of his President was no surprise to anyone there. He would disagree with him often but it was spurred on by his ability to see the strength and wisdom that at times eluded the President himself. Truth to power defined their relationship. 

It was Leo who broke the silence. “Abbey, it sounded like I wanted him to resign. I don’t. It’s like Toby said; no one can replace him. That’s why I knew he would make a great President. For all the braggadocio and his uncanny ability to glad hand, Jed has honor. It’s not honor like his position. It’s in his soul.” He pinched his nose tightly to hold back the tears. “I love him, Abbey. The entire staff loves him.” 

Toby stood next to Leo, “We all have his back, Dr. Bartlet. Trust us.” 

She recalled saying similar words to Jed on the night he was reelected President. In her mind, she heard herself talking to Jed as they left the stage where he made his acceptance speech, “It’s going to be harder this time. Smart people who love are going to have your back.” 

Turning away from them, she apologized, “I know that and so does Jed. I’m sorry for snapping like that. I’m tired and it’s so early in the morning. In fact, all of you go home.” With a laugh she added, “Going home isn’t possible right now.” 

Ellie hugged her mother. “Where we are doesn’t matter.” 

“We’re in a hospital in Landstuhl Germany where your father was flown to after a maniac in Qumar tried to kill him with a very big knife. I hate to disagree with you, Ellie, but where we are does matter.” Pulling away from the embrace she decided she would leave as well. “I’m going to the chapel. I’ll call you when the surgery is over. It doesn’t take long, about 90 minutes or so.” 

The path to the chapel was ingrained in muscle memory by now. Abbey knelt down near the front and took a rosary from her pocket. Jed had given it to her on the Christmas before their wedding. A sterling silver crucifix laid against the ebony cross. The beaded decades glistened in black elegance but as beautiful as the rosary was, reassuring as it felt in her hands, it was the act of praying that gave her the most comfort. Now she prayed for Jed. 

When done, she added her own words. “Your will be done and I accept that. I’m being selfish now. Please let him face our future without fear. If this is some kind of test, let him pass and give him time on earth to regain some serenity. This job means the world to him. Let Jed complete his work and be satisfied. He’s made Your world a better place. He’d sacrifice his life for You. Please get him well.”


	20. Telling Truth to Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans go forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long delay in posting. It can be explained in two words - migraines suck.

**Telling Truth to Power**

Fitzwallace held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Taking notes demanded two hands and he needed to get the information right. It was his responsibility to relay the latest to Nancy McNally and she didn’t approve of misinformation or unanswered questions. “Okay.” He tried to nod but the phone fell. “Damn.” He picked it back up and told the person he was talking to, “I dropped the phone. What were you saying?” He balanced things again and wrote a few more words. “Got it. Thanks.” The phone fell again as Nancy walked in. “Damn!” He picked it up again and said, “Yeah, again. Okay. We’ll have something to tell you later today.” 

The phone was now off and he told Nancy. “I kept dropping the damn thing when I was writing things down.” 

“Why didn’t you just put it on speaker? This is a private room.” 

The solution could not have been that simple. The Admiral had to figure out a cover and quickly. “I didn’t want to . . . anyone to overhear.” 

She laughed. “Admiral Sissy Mary, you’re lying. You didn’t think of it.” 

Nancy had nicknames for nearly everyone and his just annoyed the hell out of him. “Don’t call me that, please.” 

“You used to like it.” 

“I never liked it and it was only funny the first time I heard it.” 

Sitting across the table from him, she wanted to know, “What was that call about?” She started sorting through her papers. 

“The President.” 

Immediately, she stopped sorting. “Is everything okay? His speech was good. He looked like hell but what did we expect?” 

“After the speech, he had a fall. He just got out of surgery. He’s doing fine but they had to remove the injured eye and replace it with a spacer thing to keep the orbit in the correct shape.” 

“When does this stuff end for him? So, he’ll have a glass eye?” 

Checking his notes, he read, “He will need a prosthetic eye when they remove the patch. He could keep it patched all the time but I don’t think he’d do that. The prosthetic might have movement to it like his real eye. Depends on how the muscles heal.” 

Nancy returned to her papers. “Let’s be sure we have some news for him today, good news. I want Lavin arrested and then we can convince him that he will be saving his own ass if he turns on Dominowski.” 

“Only if we have enough evidence.” 

“I don’t care about evidence. We need to tell him he’s been caught and that the only way he won’t be sent to the chair is if he tells us about Dominowski.” 

“So, let’s do that before we announce any arrest. Malvois uncovered documentation that Dominowski had telephone conversations with Hutchinson about the camp. I think we can get all three of them involved in this now. If Hutchinson and Dominowski talked about breaking the Geneva Convention, then Hutchinson has to be held accountable for the attack on the President. He started it all.” 

A huge smile planted itself on Nancy’s face. “That’s great. Can’t wait to get that bastard on trial for this.” 

Fitz wanted the same but he knew Nancy wanted him to pay for the damage done to President Bartlet. “If we get him, it has to be on the memo and the phone calls. A first year law school grad could get him off any association with the attack.” 

Her ire rose up quickly and loudly, “And you’re alright with that?” 

“Did I say that?” She was the most exasperating woman. “No, I’m not but when Al Capone was put in prison it was for tax evasion, not murder, theft, bootlegging and gang crimes. You prosecute what you can get a guilty verdict on.” 

To her dismay, Fitzwallace made sense. She put her head back into her papers. Without taking her eyes off the documents, she asked, “What about his, you know, the MS thing. Is that okay?” 

His own eyes didn’t look up either. “So far, just a little but they expected that. It should be okay.” 

“Good.” 

In silence they worked through the material on their upcoming talks with Lavin and Dominowski. 

***** 

Ellie, Toby, Zoey, Charlie and Leo sat in the Landstuhl cafeteria. Half eaten breakfasts decorated the table until a member of the wait staff came and began to clear off the dirty dishes. All of them grabbed their coffee cups to protect the only thing they were actually devouring. The food had been a waste of money. Leo grabbed his coffee and his unfinished tomato juice. That made Zoey laugh. “Leo and his tomato juice. It’s legendary.” 

“I like tomato juice, especially the kind your mom serves at the farm but she refuses to tell me the brand!” 

Ellie was about to burst a bubble. “Leo, we don’t buy tomato juice at the farm. It’s like we don’t buy apple butter or cider.” 

He was puzzled. It was late or early depending on the point of view and his brain was just a little fuzzy. “Well, you guys make the cider and apple butter.” 

Toby had the sense to ask, “Ellie, do your parents happen to grow tomatoes on the farm?” She nodded. “Then, do they make tomato juice from the tomatoes?” The second question had a bit of Ziegler snark in it. 

Ellie nodded once again. “Leo, they make the tomato juice.” 

Zoey laughed out loud again. “You didn’t know we made that kind of stuff? We use a lot of the products from the farm. That’s what a farm is for. You grow things and eat them.” 

“But you don’t eat juice.” 

Even Charlie was amused at Leo’s current level of misunderstanding. “Tomato juice is made from tomatoes.” 

“Yeah but Abbey told me I couldn’t buy it in a store.” 

Ellie took his hand. “You can’t. We make it and preserve it so it doesn’t spoil. Mom and Dad both do a lot of the canning and stuff in the late summer and you’re right. It is the best tomato juice. A little salt, a little black pepper, a littler bit of cayenne and a touch of lemon juice.” 

Zoey mocking her father’s voice added, “Just a touch of lemon, enough to brighten it up but it should never taste of lemon.” 

Leo really didn’t hear Zoey. He was still astounded that people could make their own tomato juice. However, he was the first to notice that Abbey entered the cafeteria and he got up immediately and went to her side. “How is he?” 

“Fine. It went well. They enucleated it and put a temporary spacer in to keep the socket viable for the final prosthetic. Most people shouldn’t be able to notice that it’s an artificial eye. The scar on the lower lid might still be a little problematic.” She sat down and everyone looked at her. “He came through it all like a champ. They didn’t use too much anesthesia, enough to keep him out but not for long and they finished quickly. When I left, he was awake. Sleepy but awake and coherent.” 

Ellie had more questions. “That’s a lot of surgery, a lot of anesthesia. How is his MS going to handle all this?” 

“We don’t know.” 

“What about his blood sugars? Surgery disrupts that to begin with and he has no method of producing insulin.” 

“They’re monitoring his blood sugar every three hours and giving him insulin when he needs it along with the glucagon hormones he needs.” 

“When are they going to remove the colostomy?” 

Too many questions and too little sleep shortened Abbey’s temper. “Please, not now. The chronic stuff we’ll deal with later. Right now the doctors and nurses are attending to all that and I can’t think about it.” 

Toby had to know for his press release. “How has this delayed his recovery? He said he was going to take back his office this week.” 

“Alright. He’s back in his room. He’s sleeping but has been alert and talking. He knows what happened to his eye. He is not expecting this to delay his return to office though he will have an argument with me about that. The fool even thinks he’s going back to Qumar.” Pointing to Ellie’s cup, “Is that coffee still warm?” 

Charlie got up. “I’ll get you a fresh cup, ma’am.” 

“No, Charlie, don’t.” She finished her report with, “He told me to get some rest and I think I’m going to do that. Coffee won’t help.” 

Zoey put her hand on top of her mother’s. “You need to rest. You keep telling us to get sleep and you stay at his side. Dad doesn’t want you getting sick.” 

It was a pedestrian statement but still true. The way she felt, she knew she wasn’t at her best and he needed her to be. “He’s going to be sleeping for a few hours. I think I’ll do the same.” She got up grudgingly and started to walk away. Suddenly she turned to the table. “I forgot. Jed told me to tell all of you that he loves you and you all need to rest up.” The laugh was a bit cynical but it was cynically contagious. They all joined into the sad sound of recognition. It was a very Jed thing to say. 

***** 

Nancy and Fitzwallace set themselves in a room. Lavin would be there shortly and plans needed developing. Fitz admitted, “Malvois will conduct the interview. Lavin already has defenses built up against you and me.” 

“He had interrogation procedure training?” 

“Substantial.” 

“Damn, I wanted to worm a confession from that . . .” she didn’t what to call him. 

Fitz put in his two cents, “Worm a confession from that worm?” 

“Your other life, a comedy writer for The Fresh Prince of Bel Air?” 

“You watch the Fresh Prince of Bel Air?” 

“You don’t?” 

Fitz was done. “Okay, onto business. You and I need to be out of here when Lavin comes in. We want him here alone for about 10, 15 minutes.” 

Nothing makes a man squirm more than being alone just before interrogation. It developed a nervousness that aided in getting him to admit to what you knew was the truth. Malvois was a gifted officer; gifted with military knowledge and a sense of righteous humanity. He’d get the information they wanted without resorting to the physical torture used at Makan Almawt. 

“I want to watch.” 

“We will. There’s a camera set up. This way we’ll have proof of the interrogation. There’ll be no ‘he said, he said’ afterwards. I want him not to have any excuse when he goes to trial.” 

The smile on Nancy’s face reflected gratitude rather than amusement. Getting Lavin was her goal and they were on the way to making the accusation official and charging the Private with conspiracy to commit murder of the President. 

“Then let’s get out of here and give Lavin a chance to ponder. I like that word, ponder.” Looking up at the Admiral, she asked, “Any more word on how he’s doing?” 

“I assume you mean the President and not Lavin.” The look he got answered him better than any snarky comment could. “Yeah. The surgery went fine. He’s actually less feverish. I guess the infection was worse with the eye getting bad.” 

“The people who did this have to pay.” 

Again, there was no need to continue with words. Their goal was to have the guilty pay even though nothing would be enough for the damage done to Jed Bartlet. 

***** 

Jed slept a lot. Too much he thought but not nearly enough according to the doctors and various members of his family. When his eye opened, he was hoping to be alone but again, there they were. This time it was Toby and Leo. They were involved in their own stacks of papers across the room. Jed watched for a few minutes and finally let them know he was awake. “You want to talk to me? If you don’t, just go away.” 

The two men immediately went to his side. Concern with affection plastered on Leo’s face. Toby was a bit more subdued but for him, it was a lot. “How are you feeling, sir?” 

“Toby, if I hear that question one more time, I’m going to . . . do something. Not sure what I can do at this moment but I think it may have something to do with your moving to Micronesia.” 

Leo smiled. “Well, at least we know your mouth is still working. Not sure that’s such a good thing.” 

“Cute, Leo. You should feel what it’s like on this side.” 

The attempt at humor backfired and Leo whispered, “Sorry, it’s hard to know what to say.” 

Toby gave it a second try. “Abbey said they’re going to get you out of bed today, get you dressed. You up for that?” 

Too many people questioned his abilities. Yeah, he’d been attacked and he’d wear the scars forever. His speech was clear even if he still bore a bit of a lisp on certain words. More surgery would correct that but not yet. That would be a few weeks or more down the line and done in the states. From what he was told, they were already assembling the plastics team that would take on the initial “save his face” surgery. “I want to take back my office now. I can handle working.” 

Only Leo could get away with telling him, ‘You’re out of your mind.” 

“You want Russell to navigate this mess in Qumar? He’s already had conversations with Hutchinson. 

Leo was puzzled. “How do you know?” 

“Because I’m the President and some people actually think I can do my job. I know there are limits on how many hours a day I can be up and out of bed but I have to get back in office as soon as I can.” 

Toby agreed, “That’s what we all want but you can’t be pushing yourself too hard. I mean they took out an organ and you still got that colostomy thing.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know. I won’t stop working unless you have some reason to have Congress declare me incompetent. You doing that, Leo? Getting the Republicans together behind my back?” 

“Not funny, Mr. President?” 

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” He bit down on a grimace that would give away the stab of pain he felt in his gut. Leo and Toby eyes each other. The hidden grimace wasn’t as hidden as the President thought. “I have to get back into the office. I can’t work like this. I’m tired of waiting.” 

Leo reminded him, “Sir, really, you have a fever.” 

“A low grade one.” 

“A fever is a fever and after what was done to you, any fever is bad.” 

“I can’t leave Bingo Bob in charge of this debacle in Qumar. He’s buddy-buddy with Hutchinson. I want that man’s ass in prison and that means I have to be the one making the accusations and backing them up. Russell will deliver him a pardon before my signature dries on the papers sending him to hell.” 

Toby had to ask, “Should I be here for this?” 

Jed didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be busy regarding that jackass and his stupidity anyhow. You’re the spin doctor, so start to spin this all.” 

Leo reminded the President, “Today, Nancy and Fitz are trying to get a confession out of the Private that provided the knife to Maalouf.” 

“How is the evacuation of the prison going? That’s more important.” 

Toby had been writing many of the releases about Makan Almawt. “It’s moving along well. All the prisoners have been given clothing, the cells cleaned and the food prepared is in keeping with Muslim law.” 

“They’re detainees, not prisoners. They never were. The cells are clean. Well, whoopee. As for their food, I hope it’s better and more plentiful than it was before.” Making the prison nicer was not his goal. “The people we kept in cages have to get back to their homes with restitution made by the United States for the disruption in their lives.” 

There was a pause in the conversation. Leo broke it, “We can’t afford to make restitution to all those families, sir. It would break us. We’d never be able to pay it back.” 

“Then figure out a way to get support to those people. We are not a country that abandons people whom we have decimated.” 

“Right now, let’s get them all back home and close the place.” 

Mumbling under his breath, the President muttered, “That’s not enough for all they’ve been through.” 

Toby nodded, “It will never be enough.” 

Jed grimaced again but more loudly. “Damn it.” 

Leo ticked his head to the side. Toby took the direction and left the room to get a nurse. “What’s wrong?” 

“What isn’t?” He put the bottom of his palm against his forehead. “I got a headache. I’ve earned it.” A big yawn twisted his face. Yawning hurt and he hated doing it. “Even yawning takes it out of me.” 

Leo sat in the chair nearby, folded his hands in his lap and bawled out his President. “This is why you’re not ready to resume your office. You can’t even yawn without being in pain. How do you expect to negotiate with Pakistan about nuclear missiles if,” Jed yawned again. “See? You’re in pain. I know you hate to hear it but you need time to heal. Got it? You’re not some kind of superman.” 

“Go away.” 

“Toby went to get a nurse.” 

“I don’t need a nurse and I told you to go away.” 

Leo wasn’t giving up that easily. He put his hand on Jed’s arm. “Try to relax. Do that breathing thing Abbey keeps talking about. You know, breathe in, hold it and then breathe out slowly.” 

As much as it bothered him, Jed followed orders. Abbey’s breathing thing did help and he needed help. His palm gently covered the missing eye. Not knowing whether he wanted an answer or not, he whispered, “Have you seen what this looks like? They haven’t let me near a mirror. It must be really bad if they won’t let me see it.” Leo kept quiet. “That bad, eh.” 

Leo had watched the changing of the bandage on Jed’s eye and seen the open socket filled with something looking nothing like an eye. It almost sent him to the bathroom to empty his gut of his breakfast. “It’s going to look just fine when it heals and you get the glass eye thing.” 

“It’s not a glass eye. It’s some kind of acrylic. They make it match the one that’s left.” 

“One would hope.” 

“Don’t be a smart ass. This is hard for me.” He had enough vanity but not excessively so. His looks had always been an asset. He went from kind of goofy looking as a young teen to a James Dean clone later on. His Parrish blue eyes had more than one girl he met calling him Father What-a-Waste. A guy that handsome shouldn’t be a priest. Now, his face was dramatically scarred. He didn’t want to believe it. “A fake eye. They took out my eye. It won’t be healed enough to get the one that looks like a real eye for about six weeks.” That sounded weak and he couldn’t be weak, not even in front of Leo. “Till then I’m the pirate in the family now. Abbey’s ancestor be damned.” 

It was obvious to Leo that there would be a period of adjustment but this was the first time he heard his friend sound frightened rather than angry. Anger he could handle. Jed’s bursts of temper were the stuff of legends but never fear. “It’ll be okay. You’ll have some scars. Everyone does.” It was a sorry response and Leo knew it. “I’m sorry, Jed. I don’t have a clue how to answer you. The knife did a number on you. I’m just glad for myself that I didn’t see the damage until you were stitched up. God bless Fitz for being there for you. I think I would have frozen.” 

“I’m just feeling sorry for myself. It’s like . . .” He stopped before he told the real truth. The pain wasn’t what he feared. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter anyhow.” 

“That’s not true. Whatever is going on in that rather complicated head of yours matters a lot. There are times when it’s easy to forget that you’re more than just the President of the United States. You’re a very human being. Going through this had to be horrifying.” 

He heard a modicum of understanding from his best friend. “The right word isn’t horrifying. Terrifying is more like it. I’ve never been as scared in my entire life and I grew up with a father who beat the hell out of regularly. The pain I can tolerate but it’s the fear. Incredibly scared.” He failed to look up at his friend. “Am I a coward?” 

Leo stared at Jed. “Are you serious?” 

“I feel like one.” 

“I want you to remember something here. I am your best friend. I love you like a brother and there’s no other man on earth I could say that to.” Jed’s head faced the tray table. “Look at me.” He didn’t. “I said, look at me.” Jed’s head moved up a bit. “You don’t have a clue on how to be a coward and I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I promised you that I would always tell you the truth and that, my friend, is the truth.”


	21. Getting Down to Basics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress on one of two fronts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting. Again, I have been ill and this chapter was a struggle. Happy New Year!

**Getting Down to Basics**

Lieutenant Commander Calvin Malvois decided in high school that his future was in the military. He made it into Annapolis and graduated in the top ten percent of his class. His role model was the man he currently worked with, Admiral Percy Fitzwallace. The honor of his current assignment wasn’t dismissed. Fitzwallace asked for him and he would be the one interrogating the man who set the President up for assassination. This was the epitome of his career to date. Might even get a promotion based on his work here. More than that, he wanted to nail the bastards responsible for hurting Josiah Bartlet. He’d seen the injuries shortly after they occurred and even for a career military man, they were a memory he wished he never had. This one had to go right for his President. It had to. 

The interrogation room was set up. Barely 10’ by 10’ it held a table with two chairs, one door, no windows, no clock on the wall. It was as bare as could be and meant to be that way. Nothing was there to distract from the conversation he would be having with Private Lavin. 

The entrance to the room was at the end of a corridor with nothing in it. A bare, dimly lit area, rarely visited. It was designed to make isolation feel imminent and it was. The guards bringing Lavin to the room had precise instructions. They were not to speak to him. They were armed and arms were to be displayed. Confounding the prisoner prior to questioning helped the interrogator get the information he wanted as quickly as possible. Malvois knew his stuff. Lavin would break himself if allowed to and that’s what he wanted. 

Hidden in the moldings of the room cameras recorded the entire interview. Nothing would be up to speculation. It would be there for anyone to view at any later time. 

Two soldiers, rifles across their chest walked behind Lavin to the room waiting for him. Their silence spooked him and he began to feel the pressure already. This wasn’t going to be a congratulatory meeting like all the others had been. The itch began. Opening the door, they ushered Lavin into the room and closed the door behind them. 

Malvois watched Lavin pace in the room. Checking the time, he knew he had at least ten minutes to leave him there. Fitzwallace sat with him. “He’s a little scratchy, isn’t he?” 

“That’s what I want. He still thinks he’s a hero. Right now, he’s questioning why he’s being treated like a prisoner. I want him to realize we know what he did. I don’t think he’s the sharpest crayon in the box. It won’t take long.” 

Fitz had to bring the interrogator inside. “Dr. McNally and I believe Dominowski is part of this. If she is, then it could trace back to an even higher official.” 

That was news and Malvois looked startled. “Higher? You think this could be treason?” 

“It actually is treason but the proof is going to be hard to put together. Your job is simply to get Lavin to admit to his part in the attack and who helped him cover it.” 

“Yes, sir.” The news made his heart beat a little faster. “Okay, then. I’m going to the head and getting me some water.” 

Understanding the statement, Fitzwallace told him, “You’re excused.” 

***** 

The difference between a hospital gown and real clothing was immeasurable. It took him from feeling like a damaged patient to the President of the United States. Even if the clothes were old jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt. He’d been in the oval dressed similarly so he was in full command. Reading was still difficult and pain never seemed to disappear fully but he was in charge. 

Charlie, ever ready to anticipate his needs, asked that Debbie be sent over. Having someone else whom he knew would make the transition to work easier and Debbie could talk back to him. An advantage few people held. She could tell him to stop working and he’d follow her orders. 

While the President was sitting up in a chair, he was still in a hospital room. Debbie had a small desk set up with a computer and a telephone. She worked at getting a hard copy of a letter the President had dictated so that he could sign it. The dictation wasn’t as clear as it was in the White House. She had to stop it. “Sir, I’m hearing you say something here that doesn’t make sense.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“True, but what is imminent domain?” 

His mouth wasn’t working too well. “Eminent domain. Eminent with an E.” 

“Ah, that makes more sense.” 

Most talking still hurt his healing lip. Fingers gently touched the offending wound which stared out at everyone who came to see him. The bandage was gone and black stitches shouted out that he was cut up with a mean knife. His hand drifted to the bandage over his missing eye. He’d see how it looked with the white gauze covering the hole left by the surgery taking his eye but he hadn’t yet seen the open wound. The experience was offered to him but he dismissed the opportunity saying he had too much to do to waste time on looking into mirrors. 

Debbie knew how to read her President. “You probably should take the time to take a look at what’s under the Band-Aid.” 

Not turning to her, he said, “There’s nothing under it.” The dryness in his mouth made it hurt more. “Could you get me a glass of water?” 

“I got ice chips, sir.” 

“I want a drink, to drink.” 

“And I want to wake up in my apartment in DC but I’m stuck here.” 

Sometimes her snark was appreciated and other times when he didn’t have the energy to spar. No energy today. “Is my wife around?” 

“I can have Charlie find her. I think she and Leo are at dinner.” 

What he wanted only Abbey could give him. “Don’t bother her. If she’s out at dinner, then that means it’s about time for my pureed, non-acidic, protein-packed rather disgusting parody of a milk shake.” 

She went back to transcribing the President’s dictation. “You might be in for a treat. I hear they were talking about the possibility of scrambled egg. No pepper and unsalted but scrambled.” 

With a resigned sigh, he mumbled, “At this point that sounds absolutely outstanding.” His hands started shaking. “Damn it.” 

“Damn what or whom?” 

“Damn me. My MS is flaring up.” Debbie made a beeline to the nurses’ station leaving Jed shaking and sweating. “This can’t be happening now. I don’t need this.” He felt nauseous. It didn’t help matters when his entire body joined the shaking. “No, please don’t do this to me.” 

The desire to crawl into a hole and forget about the world appealed greatly to him. There had to be a limit to what God would demand of him. “Deus, dona mihi vires.” 

Two nurses followed Debbie back into the room immediately approaching the President. He held out his hands. “I’m shaking all through my body. MS hasn’t done anything like this before.” 

Nurse Alcott saw the perspiration and spoke to the other nurse. “Go get a glucometer.” She left and Alcott spoke to the President. “I’m not sure this is an MS problem, sir. If I’m right, I think this is hypoglycemia. Your blood sugar might be too low. Are you nauseous?” 

Nausea was the least of the aches. Throwing up was a skill he’d mastered ages ago. His stomach was notorious for getting upset. Compazine and antacids were always on hand. Abbey even had emesis bags strategically placed throughout the White House and up at the farm. His shoulders shrugged and answered the nurse. 

“I’d like to get you back into bed but I don’t want you to walk. I imagine you’re a bit dizzy.” 

“Some would say that is my normal state.” 

She smiled, “Not me, Mr. President.” 

The other nurse returned with the meter. She proceeded to clean his finger tip, stick him to draw a drop of blood and then touched the meter to the blood. After reading the number, she announced, “Way too low. 59.” 

“Go get an insulin injection. The amount should be in his chart.” 

“Too low?” 

“Low starts at 70 and you’re at 59. Yeah, too low.” The nurse left. “We’re getting you back in bed.” 

Leo and Abbey walked into Jed’s room. The presence of the nurse concerned his wife. “Everything okay?” 

“My blood sugar is 59 which I’ve been told is not good enough. This nice nurse wants me in bed but I told her I’d wait for you.” 

Alcott blushed. “That’s not completely true. I do think he needs to get back in bed but without any company at all.” 

“That’s my President!” Leo smirked. “He’s all talk and very harmless for the most part.” 

Abbey found it less amusing. “Insulin?” 

“We’re getting it now.” 

She knelt down in front of him. “You look like hell, Babe.” A box of tissues was at his side and she pulled one. Gently avoiding his sores, she patted the tissue on his damp face. “You’re sweating.” 

“I thought it was MS showing up. This is what low blood sugar feels like?” 

“Apparently.” 

Nurse Alcott started explaining, “I’d like to get him back in bed but the jeans don’t work.” 

Debbie got the cue. “I’ll wait outside and then finish up.” If the Presidents was about to lose his drawers, it was time to exit stage right as quickly as possible. 

“I’m going to get a clean gown for you.” Nurse Alcott left. 

Leo sat down in Debbie’s chair. “Abbey, you need some help there? I follow instructions pretty well.” 

Jed interjected, “That’s up for debate.” His right hand covered his left eye. “I got a headache.” 

“That’s probably the low blood sugar. I’m not worried.” She began to take his slippers off. “Got to get these jeans off you.” 

“You said Annie wants to go into fashion design?” 

Mention of their granddaughter seemed very odd. “What brought that up?” 

“Her first design project – hospital gowns that don’t make you feel like you’re in an institution.” 

Ignoring his smart ass remark, Abbey gestured for Leo to help. They started getting him out of his jeans. He tried to make it easier for them. Abbey told him, “Let us do this. You’re shaking a bit there, Babe. We’ll get you in bed.” 

Nurse Alcott came back in with a change of clothes for him. “Got a pair of hospital pajamas for you instead of a gown. You don’t need a gown any longer.” 

Abbey wanted to know, “Where’s the insulin? He’s shaking harder. I can feel it and he’s getting pale.” 

“Julie is preparing it now.” 

They all continued and Jed was stripped and redressed in no time at all. Leo had trouble when he saw the wounds on his gut. Stitches still showed and there were still tubes leading from inside his body to various bags collecting stuff that made the Chief of Staff uncomfortable. He had to turn away. 

Jed’s ability to stay awake was lessening and he barely noticed the abundance of people moving his limbs all over the place. Bed sounded better to him. His jeans and sweatshirt were folded and put away for a later time. 

The other nurse entered with they prepared syringe. She cleaned the site and plunged the needle into Jed’s upper arm. Flinching while getting stuck was more of a habit than a real indication of pain. He had needles of some kind or another in his arms several times a week for nearly ten years now. 

Abbey was still on her knees in front of him. “Jed, look at me.” His eyes opened and stared into hers. 

He gave her a little smile. “I hope that smiling won’t hurt for much longer.” 

“Not much longer.” 

Fully dressed for bed, Jed started to stand. Leo pushed down on his shoulder. “Hold on. Let’s get someone who can catch you if you fall. Not sure any of us in here now can do it.” 

“I won’t fall.” He pushed past the hands holding him down and he got to his feet. 

Abbey held onto the pajama bottom at his waist. Leo took an arm. Nurse Alcott walked behind him pushing his IV stand. Slowly they got to the bed. They gradually turned him so he could sit on the edge of the mattress. He was already out of breath and his breathing sounded raspy. “Abbey, I’m falling.” He groaned. 

Nurse Alcott caught him before he slipped to the floor. Leo called out, “Ron! We need you!” 

The ever-present agent was just outside of the door. Running in before finished calling him, Ron quickly took the President in his arms. Abbey and Nurse Alcott straightened out his pajamas and the tubes in his arm. Leo backed off as Ron laid the President in his bed. 

By the time everyone was settled, the President was asleep. At least Abbey hoped it was sleep. “Thank you, Ron.” He left. Abbey was spooked. “This is the lowest his blood sugar has gone. Why did it get so bad?” 

“He was up for longer than we wanted. I’ll have his glucose measure every hour for the next few days. I can also have his endocrinologist talk to you. He’s completely insulin dependent now and that can take time to balance out. We ordered him some scrambled eggs for dinner tonight. His mouth should tolerate that well and we’ll watch his sugar.” 

Leo had no clue about diabetes and insulin. “Eggs don’t have sugar, do they?” 

“No, sir. They don’t but any food intake effects your blood sugar.” 

With Jed already asleep, Leo didn’t worry about being heard. He took Abbey’s hand. “This is never going to be over for him, is it?” 

She put her head into Leo’s shoulder and began to cry. 

***** 

Private Hank Lavin paced inside the small room two armed guards took him to. The chairs weren’t that comfortable and he didn’t want to sit until he had to. Without a lot of room, he didn’t have anywhere to go but after a few minutes he developed a pattern three steps forward, turn left two steps, turn around and go back reversing the steps. Over and over so often that he started counting the times he traced the outline. It was getting close to triple digits and his heart rate climbed along with the repetitions. 

Lieutenant Commander Malvois and Admiral Fitzwallace watched Lavin pacing. The Admiral wanted to know, “How long you going to let him wear out the soles of his shoes?” 

“A few more minutes.” 

“You have an evil streak in you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

A few minutes turned into five. Lavin still hadn’t taken a chair and his itchiness was compounding. Quietly he whispered, “This isn’t good. This isn’t good.” Malvois decided it was time. 

With a decidedly casual swagger, Malvois entered the interrogation room. Lavin snapped to attention and saluted. “At ease, Private.” He returned the salute. “Please, sit down. We’re just going to have a little chat.” 

Lavin pulled out a chair across from where the Lieutenant Commander sat. He wanted distance between them. “How are you doing, Private?” 

“Fine, sir.” 

“Good. I’m here to ask you to clarify a few things so we can close up the investigation and finalize all the reports.” He took out some papers and made a few notes. Lavin didn’t know that the things being written down were meaningless and simply a tool to increase his anxiety. “Okay. Here we go. You were assigned to bring Prisoner Maalouf to an interrogation with President Bartlet and Admiral Fitzwallace. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’d like you to describe your activity from the moment you took Maalouf from his cell until he stabbed the President.” 

“I’ve told that story over and over again, sir.” 

“Tell it again. I’ll ask you some questions if I want more information.” 

“Um, yes sir. I was given the assignment to gather Maalouf and get him to interrogation room 2D where Admiral Fitzwallace and President Bartlet were waiting.” 

“Who gave you the order?” 

Lavin didn’t want to say. “I’m not sure. It was a very confusing time.” 

“Okay, who usually gave you orders regarding the prisoners’ transport?” 

“It varied, sir.” 

“Give me some names. Was it your sergeant?” 

“Sometimes, sir. Sgt. Foster would assign me or Sgt. Borowicz. It just depended on the day.” 

“So, on the day there was an attempt on the President’s life, who assigned you? I’d like the name.” 

Lavin was caught. He knew the order came from higher than his sergeant but he had to keep that quiet. The word came from the Major General. At least that’s what he figured out. Word was out among the men that she hated the President and didn’t like Fitzwallace sticking his nose into her affairs. “I can’t recall, sir. It’s been a very confusing time for me.” 

“I’m sure.” Malvois took a minute to write down notes. He pretended a shorthand that couldn’t be read but he wrote. “No idea where the order came from. “Is that typical for you?” 

“One day becomes like another all the time. You don’t pay attention to things like who gives you the order.” 

Malvois looked startled. “Really? How do you know the order is official? Don’t you get any kind of documentation regarding which prisoner you were to gather up”? 

“Nothing written, sir.” 

“So the fact that we can’t find Maalouf’s name on any of the lists of the detainees requested by the Admiral is just an oversight?” 

There was nothing to say. He had to keep denying. “I guess so, sir. I don’t recall how it was determined to bring Maalouf in.” 

“Really? That doesn’t make sense to me. We have the duty roster from that day and I know your Sergeant wasn’t either Foster or Borowicz. His name was Thomas Galliway, right?” 

“If you say so, sir. I don’t recall.” 

For the first time, Malvois turned hard and accusing. “You don’t recall. Try a little harder, would you? I have more questions.” 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

Malvois took a few more minutes to make notes about nothing. Lavin needed a few deep breaths. Without looking up, the Lieutenant Commander said, “Am I taking too much time?” 

“No, sir. It’s fine.” 

Finally grabbing Lavin eye to eye, he simply told him, “Yes, I know it’s fine.” 

The squirming became more evident. “Sorry, sir.” 

They continued to play questions and lies. It had been over an hour. Malvois had one more thing to do. “I’d like you to stand up, Private.” Lavin did. “Please come over here and stand in front of me.” Lavin did as requested. “I want to go over your story about the knife. Please show me where you carry your combat knife. I understand you carry yours at your ankle.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Show me now where you sheath it.” 

Lavin pointed to the top of his Army boot. “I keep the sheath right here.” 

Malvois put his hand at the top of Lavin’s boot. “This is where Maalouf got your knife.” 

“Yes, sir. My boot came untied and when I was tying it he got it from me.” 

“You didn’t notice that he was taking it from you.” 

“No, sir.” 

The interrogator proceeded to until Lavin’s boot. “So, your boot is untied now. Show me how you retied it.” 

Lavin waited. He hadn’t been asked to demonstrate the boot lie before. Dropping down on one knee, Lavin grabbed the laces in his hands and began to tighten the boot. “I guess like this, sir.” 

Malvois slapped his hand on the private’s ankle. “And he took the knife from you when you were tying your boot. What’s wrong with this picture?” 

There could be no way for anyone to take a knife from his boot sheath without him knowing. Cover stories weren’t his forte. “Um, well, my knife was in the other boot. I couldn’t see that boot.” 

“You had your back to a detainee you were bringing in to meet the President of the United States? You offered him access to your knife?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Guess again, Private Lavin. You testified that the knife was take from the leg where your untied boot needed work. Were you lying then or now?” 

Go back to mistaken. “I may have forgotten exactly how it happened.” 

“Are you finally catching on that we have the truth and that we’re just waiting for you to tell it to us?” He sat back in his chair. “Stand up, Private.” 

Lavin stood at attention. “Yes, sir.” 

“Go sit down and we’re going to continue our conversation. You will tell me exactly what happened the day you allowed Maalouf to take your knife to my President.” The cold in his eyes told Lavin the game was up. 

***** 

Jed was asleep and recovering from his encounter with hypoglycemia. Leo answered the ringing phone. “Yeah?” He listened. “You got them both?” More listening and then a small smile crossed his lips. “Good. Thanks Fitz.” Answering the Admiral, Leo told him, “He’s sleeping now. He had a bout with low blood sugar. It made him feel sick. It’s going to take some time for him to get through this.” A bit of silence and then, “Thanks. I’ll let him know. Now, it’s time for Hutchinson.” He clicked the phone shut. “We got them.”


	22. Need Some Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reason for not posting.

Sorry for the long delay. I've be sick and may be in hosipital for another six yo eight months. Sepsis, kidney infection and severed infected knee tendon. Sorry. This chapter will be updated when possible. I am not dropping the story. I aplogize.


	23. Heavy Is the Head That Wears the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jed's circumstances complicate his Presidency.

**Heavy is the Head That Wears the Crown**

Plans were made. Time to return to DC even though the President wanted to go back to the prison and give a major address. “I have got to wrap this thing up and let people know that we stand for our Constitution and our Laws. We have to take responsibility!” 

Admiral Fitzwallace sat across from him and Nancy McNally. “Mr. President the country needs you to stay healthy. Medically speaking you’re not all that well.” 

“To be honest, sir, you also need to improve your face a little.” Nancy could put things in more forward phrasing. “You still look like a Halloween mask. Your lip is healed but it’s twice the normal size. You do the Presidential stuff behind the scene and let us take care of the upfront stuff. You want it that way anyhow.” 

Jed knew they were right but it ground at him. “I have to be the one to finally put the nails in Hutchinson’s political coffin.” 

Fitz put his hand on his friend’s arm. “You did that already when you fired him.” 

“I want to be the one who puts him in jail.” 

What he really wanted was to be strong enough to be involved in the trial but he wasn’t. Didn’t matter anyhow. The right people were handling it all. He wasn’t needed and, as Nancy noted, his face was a catastrophe still. 

But it was Hutchinson that he wanted to bury. Putting him on the Cabinet was a major mistake and he thought for hours how he came to the conclusion to do it. No doubt Hutchinson was smart. Smart, yeah. Knew the military? Certainly. Then the final reason. Not afraid of being aggressive militarily. That was what Hutchinson was and it was not Jed Bartlet. He let his fears of passivism move him into an alliance with military aggression far beyond his personal belief system. 

The evidence just rained down on them when Dominowski broke. It was a huge betrayal of the Bartlet administration. Miles Hutchinson would be the scandal his administration would be known for throughout history. Forget MS. That meant nothing. 

He hadn’t noticed a change in the occupancy of the room. Nancy and Fitz left when Abbey appeared. She was who he needed. Sitting across the desk from him, she could feel the exhaustion filling the room. Without saying a word, she waited and knew he’d come back to the present soon. Took about three minutes but he finally felt the scent of her cologne. His eye turned to her. “When did you get here?” 

“When did you take your trip into your brain?” 

“A few minutes ago.” 

“Don’t let Hutchinson bring you down.” 

“It’s not just him. I can’t get those people we held prisoner out of my mind. I really can’t blame Maloof for wanting to kill me. It was all designed for them to eventually rebel.” 

“Why? What would be the benefit of that?” 

It was a bizarre plan that ultimately led to a super conservative attack on Jed’s liberalism. It went so far as to create a Republican onslaught that would bring a new, bold and dangerous right wing growth designed to rip Jed’s work for world peace into pieces. He told Abbey, “It would take years but the rebellion at Makan Almawt would be the premiere event. Hutchinson’s documents are meticulous.” 

“He can’t possibly think it would work.” 

“He’d start like Leopold of Belgium. He’d try to convince people he was helping Qumar while in fact he was eliminating them.” 

“That can’t happen now.” 

“Wanna bet?” There was a long silence. “Then in a few decades, he’d work it all into Mao’s behavior. It’s possible Abbey.” Jed still felt the pain of his attack. “Look at how they began.” He pointed to his face. “I will be the poster child.” 

“They couldn’t possibly do that to you.” 

“It’s a natural. It will all come back at me all those decades ago.” 

The story Jed laid out sounded impossible. There was no way the country would turn that right wing. “Jed, I’ve met Haffley and Walken. They may be too conservative for my taste but they’re basically good men.” 

“Not Haffley. Walken is but look how fast he bombed another country when Zoey was missing. He killed without a second thought or with proof that Zoey was their prisoner.” More silence. “And Walken is the good one. He really is.” 

It was the truth but it didn’t settle him. “History is an odd thing. We try so hard to create it but then it goes and gets its own life.” 

“Makan Almawt is free. The next President will continue to make it better and history will remember it as the place their President was attacked. Wait, that’s almost right. Their favorite President was attacked and survived to make a terrible wrong right.” 

That wasn’t what he was concerned about and he was done thinking about it. He had contemporary issues to contend with and some of them were too personal. “Abbey, how disfigured am I? I don’t like vanity especially in me.” His hand went to his face. “This is . . . Damn, I don’t have an eye and my lip is not right. I know it’s healing but it looks wrong.” 

“It is wrong. You need plastic surgery to fix it.” His self-confidence evaporated and she again held him. “Time will help. Next year, you’ll have a prosthetic and your mouth will be normal again.” 

“He cut into my jaw.” 

It wasn’t the way she wanted to get him past it all but she told him, “Honey, the knife wound that took your pancreas, that’s the more serious wound. Watching your insulin is an hour by hour thing. We have to monitor your blood sugar all the time now. It’s a lot more dangerous than a dashing pirate eye. You’ll look like a relative of mine.” 

He looked at a blob of nothingness in the air. “I wonder if Leopold II back in the 1870s realized that genocide was a parlor door opening up well over a century of terror for millions of people. I wonder if he thought about the long term effects of his regime.” 

“It doesn’t matter because you are not heading a regime. Take yourself out of this picture. You are not going to be responsible for the downfall of mankind. It’s because of you that people are talking about peace in the Middle East. You are going to push the world in that direction.” 

Reaching out for her, he pulled her into his body. “I never imagined that the Presidency included these kinds of thoughts. It was all very esoteric about leader of the free world and stuff. But if you try to change the history of anywhere, you’re putting yourself in the position of leader of the free world, that’s what you’re doing. You have to admit and accept that responsibility.” 

“You did.” 

“It’s called hubris. I can change history for all time. I really am the leader of the free world but I didn’t ever consider it a perpetual reality.” 

***** 

Despite his promise, Jed couldn’t return to Qumar to announce the American program of support for the prisoners of Makan Almawt. His body wouldn’t tolerate it. His facial injuries healed and an artificial eye helped greatly in restoring his look though the scars above and below the fake orb made him look like an urbane 1940s film noir detective. The swollen, blackened lip disappeared almost completely much to his relief. He had a special eye patch to wear when he didn’t want to wear the artificial eye and there were many times when he didn’t. It was a charcoal gray plastic cover that somehow made him look perfectly abnormally normal. The first one that matched his skin tone creeped out everyone who saw it. This covered the opening and extended just half an inch around it. The grey was identical and its neutrality matched every ubiquitous Mr. President suit he owned. He never knew which was better for public appearances. Mostly he chose the eye and wore his glasses. 

Leo walked at his side as they approached the Oval from the Portico. It was a subject that he didn’t want to approach but had to. “Mr. President, we have a situation in Qumar again.” 

Jed’s gut tightened. “We always have a situation in Qumar. Just as long as it’s not about Makan Almawt.” 

Leo skewed his face a bit. “Well, sorry. It’s Makan Almawt.” 

The President stopped in his tracks. “The place is not there anymore. Didn’t we bulldoze it? It’s gone and Hutchinson’s trial is going to start next month, right?” 

“Yes, but this has to do with the country, not Makan Almawt.” 

Jed fumed internally. He wanted that ordeal to be over. His face would forever bear the marks and reminders were unwelcome. “Please don’t tell me we did something else there that is an affront to mankind.” 

They entered the Oval and the President dropped his briefcase on the floor. After making the sign of the cross, he went down on one knee rather clumsily. Barely audible, he bent his head. “How long Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?” 

Leo knew his President was prone to the occasional prayer moment but they were coming too often for his taste. “Get up. Pray in the Residence or in church and leave it out of the Oval. Remember separation of Church and State?” 

Jed wasn’t surprised by Leo’s outburst and actually felt he was a little bit right. As he awkwardly stood up he chastised, “I’ll pray where I want to and you know my decisions are never based on my Catholicism so just stop thinking they are.” 

It was the closest thing to an argument the two had in months. They probably needed a blow up to bring thing back to normal. Leo didn’t want to jeopardize Jed’s belief in himself. After the attack and the damage done to his body, Jed admittedly had to reconstruct his confidence, his convictions and he sometimes went a step too far in proving to people he was still President. 

Leo accepted his spanking and the conversation continued. “There is a definite Anti-American sensibility flowing through Qumar. Gone are the days of trying to emulate their American brothers and the world of Democracy. The trend toward joining the club is waning and we’re in trouble.” 

Jed brushed the knee that took the Oval floor and then sat at his desk. “Explain trouble.” 

“Marches and demonstrations that are getting out of hand. A little bit of blowing things up.” No doubt his last sentence was a smart-ass remark and his face showed it. 

“Why are you so pissed at me?” 

Leo shook his head and tried to shake off the accusation. “I’m not pissed.” 

“And in case you haven’t heard, I’m not stupid. What’s wrong?” 

Leo just shook his head but barely. Only someone who knew him for decades could. “The last,” he stumbled for a word, “let’s call it a gathering left three dead. They were targeted for their pro-American standings. Our allies are now in hiding and our former friends are ready to storm our fueling station.” 

Anger was an easy emotion for Jed Bartlet. He fumed easily and frequently. “How come this is the first time I’m hearing this?” 

“It just came to a head this morning.” 

“Why didn’t I know about this weeks ago? This may have come to a head this morning but it’s been growing for months.” 

That was truth and Leo didn’t have an answer Jed was going to like. “We wanted to let you in on what was going on . . .” 

Jed interrupted, “We? Who else is in on this conspiracy to keep me out of international relations which I think is a main part of my job description?” 

Pacing around, Leo tried to hold in his temper. “You were busy keeping nuns from setting fire to their robes.” 

“So China and Tibet aren’t important?” 

His voice blew up. “Of course, they’re important but everything takes twice as long to accomplish.” He went on saying things he was wishing he didn’t say. “Check his blood sugar. Clean the eye. Watch for tremors. Stay at his side when he stands. I feel like a damned nurse’s aide and that’s why you don’t get information on everything going on.” 

Once he finished the tirade he was embarrassed and ashamed. He railed at his best friend, the President and blamed a lot of stuff the President had to deal with now. He knew it was misplaced anger. Still, it was anger. 

“Stop protecting me!” Jed fumed and threw a pen across the room. It wasn’t the first time he threw things. It was a favored way of expressing extreme anger and right now he wanted to throw his glass paperweights. He breathed deeply several times in order to regain control. Looking at his friend, he told him, “Sit down. You look like you’re going to collapse any second now.” Leo sat. “Good.” 

They looked at each other for a long time. Leo’s head hung first. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” 

“It’s all right. I say the same thing to myself a hundred times a day.” 

He waited a few seconds. I think we need Fitz and Nancy for a full briefing.” 

“Situation level briefing?” 

“It should be.” 

Jed pushed a button on his phone, “Debbie, please as Admiral Fitzwallace and Dr. McNally to get to the Sit Room ASAP.” He listened, “I’m fine.” He listened more and looked very sheepish. Leo heard him tell her, “I’ll take my sugar before I go down.” More silence then, “I needed insulin this morning. I’m running low so yeah, I might need a shot before I go down.” 

Leo looked at Jed and whispered, “See what I mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting. I'm in rehab but getting better slowly - very slowly.


End file.
